


Haematolagnia

by Esperata



Category: Star Trek: Mirror Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Developing Relationship, Dildos, Episode Related, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Episode: s02e10 Mirror Mirror, Episode: s02e15 Journey to Babel, Episode: s02e19 The Immunity Syndrome, Episode: s03e10 For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Necrophilia, Knifeplay, Licking, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Medical Torture, Oral Sex, Rimming, Romulans, Self-Harm, Semi-Public Sex, Strangulation, Swearing, Telepathic Bond, Violence, Xenopolycythemia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-07 10:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11057388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esperata/pseuds/Esperata
Summary: “Will you walk into my parlour?”McCoy makes an unsettling self-discovery that Spock is most willing to exploit.





	1. Chapter One

Leonard Horatio McCoy didn’t enjoy sending people to the Agony Booth.

Not for any compassionate reason nor because he objected to causing pain. He was a doctor and as such knew that pain was sometimes necessary for the patient’s overall good. Or sometimes for the good of the many who would benefit from a lesson learnt from experimentation. That was especially true in the Empire where discipline was regulated by pain and the undisciplined were punished by death. A few people sent to the Agony Booth generally avoided wide spread, harsher punishments. And McCoy saw no use in people dying unnecessarily.

No, simply put, he objected to it because there was no blood with the agonisers.

Leonard McCoy was a fine surgeon who knew his way round innumerable species’ insides, but he did have an unnatural fascination with blood.

It had started in childhood. He was first aware of it when officers had come to Georgia hunting some runaway. They’d found him and beat him near senseless in the middle of the street. There was so much blood that the young Leonard had assumed the man must be dead. He’d wanted to go forward and examine the puddles. He wanted to know why some of the blood had appeared darker and some so much brighter. Why did it flow so freely from some wounds but not others?

However his father had told him to stay put and had shoved his own way forward. Leonard had watched as David McCoy knelt… not noticing the blood soaking into his trousers… and somehow put the man back together.

It was then Leonard knew he wanted to be a doctor like his dad.

Not for the miracle his father had seemingly performed, but because he’d been allowed to literally wallow in those tempting pools of liquid.

_Haematolagnia_ – that was the word for it, he learnt later. Blood fetish.

At med school he’d scored top grades and his instructors were willing to overlook certain… abnormalities… to smooth his way to qualifying. He’d struggled to focus on healing bleeding wounds. He could never quite resist catching at least a drop on a gloved finger. And at times it was painfully apparent how much he enjoyed the sight – although he gradually learnt to control that reaction.

But he had a natural talent for medicine and those skills were too sought after in the Empire to object to because of a slight fetish. And in the scheme of things his obsession was relatively tame.

But it was an immutable part of who he was, as Jocelyn found out.

She was interested in him because he was a promising doctor and he’d attempted to date her in a traditional fashion because she was beautiful. It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy the normal stuff too but eventually he couldn’t deny what he wanted, what he _needed_.

He knew now that he was foolish not to have stated that at the outset but you live and learn. Or not. After all, he’d approached Nancy directly and she’d simply refused.

Jocelyn’s desire was for riches and she was willing to put up with his kinks while she thought he was heading somewhere. So she let him nick her skin when they made love and did the same to him when asked. But the relationship quickly grew stale.

Jocelyn lost interest as McCoy showed no ambition and grew repulsed as his requests for blood play increased. McCoy needed the additional impetus just to try and maintain his own waning interest. Eventually she’d had enough and, using his own knife to slash his forearm, she’d stormed out into the night claiming rape and abuse. Unfortunately she had sufficient evidence to make those sorts of allegations stick so he’d left. Signed up and not looked back. The Empire thankfully weren’t too fussy about such things especially if they’d never been proven.

He’d left the wound on his arm to heal naturally and scar. It formed a permanent reminder for him of the perils of forming an intimate relationship.

He avoided relationships now. He had plenty of opportunity to indulge his fetish on the _ISS Enterprise_ after all. Kirk quite often would send a crewman along to endure McCoy’s special treatments.

McCoy didn’t kill unnecessarily but, as the crew knew, there were so many worse things than dying. And rumour was McCoy knew them all.

It was a common belief that McCoy still had the living body of Gary Mitchell trussed up somewhere in sickbay. His disappearance around the time of McCoy’s transfer to the ship seemed too co-incidental. Especially when considered with Bones’ closeness to Captain Kirk.

It was rubbish of course. Mitchell had died before McCoy ever stepped aboard. He was however still locked up in the sickbay morgue and McCoy more than suspected Christine got him out occasionally to play with.

No-one wanted to necessitate a visit to sickbay. Obviously not for a special treatment but also just for actual medical assistance. Every once in a while someone paid for their treatment in McCoy’s own unique way. Some with added scars, some were playthings for new techniques. Pain in the path of progress was perfectly acceptable.

Bones knew precisely how much blood a person could lose. He could just leave them dizzy or cause them to pass out. That last one always resulted in a momentary look of terror before their eyes would roll into their sockets. Every one of the crew knew about his unusual interest and, while he’d never been known to accidently let someone bleed out, it was apparent he might be tempted this time to simply watch the blood flow.

In many ways, the crew feared the uncertainty of that more than the Booth.

He never indulged with them though.

Oh he was certainly aroused enough by the sight of their blood welling up but he wasn’t fool enough to let down his defences with any of the crew. So mostly he indulged only by himself. Holding himself in one hand while he drew that old scalpel across his skin in light strokes with the other. Not as satisfying as when someone else did it but it served to relieve his tension.

That was until the First Officer was laid bleeding on a biobed.

The sight of that vivid green blood made McCoy hard so fast it hurt and he pressed himself against the side of the bed with a soft grunt.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your point of view, Kirk was hovering nearby, determined to make sure Spock didn’t fall prey to the capricious whims of McCoy’s medical staff. A First Officer that wasn’t out to usurp you was too valuable a commodity to leave untended in an Empire medical facility.

McCoy couldn’t take his eyes from the slow, pulsing bursts of green copper-based blood and he felt his mouth water at the sight. Steeling himself he called for the nurse.

“Chapel. Heal those skin wounds will ya?”

McCoy worked well with Christine and trusted her as much as anyone. She had her own fetish, certainly, but she liked her men colder than Spock. A lot colder.

She understood McCoy’s reasons for enlisting her help and didn’t query his command, simply placing a sterile cloth over the wounds to hide the sight so McCoy could work on the other injuries while she fetched the dermal regenerator.

McCoy focused on his work and thankfully, by the time Spock was patched up and leaving, the doctor’s erection had disappeared.

He didn’t let himself think of it until he was securely locked inside his own quarters that night. Then, with scalpel in hand and sitting cross legged and naked on his bed he let his mind drift back.

As he drew the first cut across his thigh he let out a sigh and felt the first surge of anticipation. It was ridiculously tame by his standards now of course but, like the sight of that first porn image, it lost none of its power to arouse. The sheer memory of recollected thrill was enough.

He delayed, letting the familiar tingling build as he stared half lidded at the drops of blood welling up. The sight of the red blood still appealed but it wasn’t enough to do more than stimulate him, ready for more.

He started a slow motion with his hand as he added a deeper cut alongside the first. Then smeared his own blood across his skin with delicate fingertips. He let his mind wander as his body fell into the familiar routine.

What was it about the walking computer’s blood, he wondered, that it had had such a visceral impact on him? It was hardly the first alien’s blood he’d had his hands in. After all, he’d studied xenobiology and taken to his share of battlefields.

He remembered his first sight of blood brought about through combat. It was Klingon and it was pink. He hadn’t liked the subtly _wrong_ shade and had felt no compulsion to linger near the fallen victims.

Shaking the image from his mind he refocused on his current activities. He stared at the slow trickle of red running across his thigh down to drip on absorbent sheets. Letting himself go briefly with his other hand he coated his palm and quickly resumed his rhythm. He couldn’t hold back the groan as he felt the sticky sensation over his sensitive skin.

He recalled instead those classes with real alien bodies to play with. A lot of species had red blood of various shades and he was always absolutely fascinated by that. He remembered a Denobulan that had bled out. It had fuelled his fantasies throughout the Academy.

The remembrance of the overwhelming volume of blood from that occasion made him pant slightly. He could have painted himself it in and frequently imagined doing so. He almost lost himself in imagining fingers leaving tacky trails through the cloying covering before drawing his mind back to what he wanted to think about.

Andorians, with their bright blue blood – that had interested him but not brought him to full arousal – and Na’kuhl with their yellow blood that had strangely always made him laugh. But he _did_ remember the one time they’d been allowed to get their hands on an actual Vulcan.

He squeezed his eyes shut and held his hand still as he forced his mind away from Spock laid out and onto the unrecognised Vulcan from so many years ago. He needed to _understand_. He needed to think. And this was how he could think best.

As his sudden rush towards climax receded he let out a breath and started again.

That Vulcan had green blood of course. It had been evident in several place and McCoy had managed to trace his fingers through it. The sensation had been as pleasant as he’d expected but it was nothing to how he’d reacted in his own sickbay to Spock.

So what was different?

He brought all the details from that first encounter with a Vulcan back to mind, letting his hand run more firmly up and down as his breathing increased. The viscosity of the fluid on his fingers, the vibrancy of the copper sheen, the rapid pulse rate of the flow, the faint metallic tang in the air…

His eyes snapped open and he gasped.

He knew.

The rush of memory from his afternoon in sickbay assaulted him with renewed understanding and his orgasm rushed over him with a suddenness that had him almost blacking out.

He came to, breathing heavily, laid back on the bed – his softening penis in one hand and his bloody scalpel in the other.

The damn half-breed had human elements to his blood! He’d scented it without even realising what he smelt was familiar for a reason. Spock had some unique blend of alien-human blood that was like a goddamn aphrodisiac.

McCoy’s dick stirred at the thought and the doctor sighed. He was screwed.


	2. Chapter Two

“You know what ya can do with yer logic don’t you? Stick it where the sun don’t shine! This is my goddamn sickbay and I’ll run it however I damn well please you half-breed elf!”

McCoy knew he was behaving irrationally. He knew it even before that slanted eyebrow arched at him. But it was either that or risk embarrassing himself in an entirely different fashion.

His choice had essentially been between maintaining an aggressive front and risking the Agony Booth… or risking the Vulcan discovering his weakness and exploiting it ruthlessly.

Better the devil you know, as the saying went.

“I could have you punished severely for your insubordination Doctor.”

McCoy froze momentarily, unsure if the First Officer would actually decide to simply ship him off for an hour or two of pain. He tried to decipher the emotion flaring in those dark eyes and found he couldn’t. So he fell back onto his default bluster, scoffing and crossing his arms.

“Then who’d deal with the lieutenant here?”

“I understood sickbay had other staff.”

“Yeah well, you don’t want to risk turning a pretty boy like this over to Christine. She may want to add him to her collection.”

The Vulcan chose to ignore that reference.

“Unfortunately, the captain did stipulate he wanted your particular expertise for this… patient.”

The First Officer turned on his heel and headed for the door. McCoy had just allowed his shoulders to relax when the Vulcan swung back to face him.

“I shall return after my shift to arrange a suitable punishment for your outburst Doctor.”

“Shit,” McCoy murmured once he had left.

It wasn’t that he feared the Agony Booth. Oh, it was painful of course. Agony in fact. But he’d survived it before and would no doubt survive it again. However he’d rather not have any more contact with Spock than he could help.

Since his unfortunate revelation about Spock’s unique blood, McCoy could hardly stop himself thinking about it. Seeing the man in the flesh was an agonising temptation. The thought of all that warm, green copper tainted liquid pulsing through such easily accessible veins made him want to reach out and _scratch_.

On the one occasion he’d been forced to share a turbolift with the Vulcan McCoy had had to dig his own nails into his palm to keep himself from just reaching out and pressing fingers into the skin to see the delicate capillaries burst and bruise. The sight of his own blood after that had been revoltingly disappointing.

In fact, pure iron based blood wasn’t doing it for him anymore.

Oh it could get him started all right but the sensation was only pleasant. Nothing more. None of his old favourites worked for him and it wasn’t until he started envisaging streaks of green that he could find relief.

He turned with a scowl to the unfortunate lieutenant trussed up on the biobed. McCoy had no idea why he’d been gifted this crewman to play with but he was certainly in the mood to experiment.

The man stared wide eyed up at him.

“Well now,” the doctor drawled. “Unluckily for you, that little conversation has put me in a right bad mood. Lucky for me I know just the thing to cheer me up.”

He held up a scalpel and twisted it so it glinted. The man’s eyes widened further. McCoy paid him no heed as he too stared at the blade.

It wasn’t beautifully maintained and sharpened as his own personal one was. It was in fact one of those no longer useful for proper medical work. Slightly too blunted and nicked. Unique though.

McCoy began by idly making tiny cuts randomly across the exposed torso. The man flinched mostly from the surprise, never knowing where the next incision would be… Never knowing when the doctor would dig deeper.

It was relaxing for McCoy and he felt his mind ease into the routine. The sight of the red blood was comforting. There was nothing to worry about with iron based blood. It was familiar. There would be no strange uncontrollable reactions.

Unlike the hybrid’s blood.

He twisted the scalpel and heard a muffled cry. A bright river of red flowed across the skin before him.

Red. That was normal. That was safe. If only he could lose himself in the red as he had always done before.

He pushed the knife suddenly, drawing a vivid line down the abdomen.

Maybe that was what he needed to eradicate this abnormal craving he’d developed. Maybe if he had _enough_ red blood… enough to dowse himself with… to wash away the memory of that green copper tinted liquid. If he could coat himself in the smell of the iron blood then surely he wouldn’t be affected by that copper scent…

“Doctor!” A hand on his wrist snapped him back. “He’s certainly pretty but he’s too young for my taste.”

McCoy blinked at his nurse and then looked down at the bloody mess in front of him.

“Shit!”

He pulled his hands back, spattering red droplets across the sickbay floor as he did so. Apparently he’d been literally rubbing the blood up his arms right to the elbows without even realising.

Chapel stepped smartly up to the body and quickly ran the regenerator over the cut tissue to stop him bleeding out.

“Well, he certainly won’t be doing whatever he did to land up here again,” she commented. “Going to be a mess of scar tissue. Unless you think we should tidy him up a bit?”

McCoy ran a hand distractedly over his head, forgetting it was still coated until he felt the sticky mess catching in his hair.

“He’s security,” he muttered. “Scars are a badge of honour. Probably be pleased.”

Christine eyed him sceptically.

“You alright?”

He glared at her.

“I’m fine. Why?”

She wasn’t at all fazed by his aggression.

“Firstly, you nearly let him bleed out. I’ve never seen you zone out like that before.”

McCoy opened his mouth to retort but Christine beat him to it.

“Secondly, you weren’t _enjoying_ it.”

McCoy snapped his mouth shut.

It was true he suddenly realised. There’d been enough blood flowing to literally wash himself with and he was stood here almost completely calm. He stared at the pools of blood coagulating on the floor and realised he didn’t particularly want to revel in them.

He thrust both hands into his hair and growled.

“Goddammit!”

Christine waited, cool and collected as ever, but McCoy sure as hell wasn’t going to try and explain this to her.

“Goddamn First Officer’s planning to roast me alive later for shooting my mouth,” he grumbled hoping it’d be enough to quell rumours that he was losing his touch.

Christine smirked.

“Well, you’ve had that coming a while,” she commented.

He glared at her again.

“I’m gonna get a shower,” he told her before stalking off.

The sonic shower blasted the clumps of tacky blood from his skin and he watched as it was vibrated back into fluid streams. Usually the sight of it would send a pleasant tingle through him but now… nothing.

He stared down at his unresponsive member. Experimentally he caught up some of the thinning red blood and smeared it round himself. His hand felt nice and the liquid gave the illusion of a flush briefly but that was it.

It was probably a very bad idea but now he was here he couldn’t quite resist it. He envisaged green streaks amid the red lines between his fingers.

The new idea of green liquid entering the mix had McCoy hardening rapidly.

He ignored the red blood being forced away by the sonic and focused on his memory of _that_ afternoon. The shallow cut along the pale green arm… the slow, rhythmic pulse of green fluid swelling up, running over, dripping down with a soft gentle noise. The faint tang in the air of copper, so different yet so familiar.

He closed his eyes. As one hand moved roughly on his leaking cock, he panted softly to himself and ran his tacky fingers down his chest, trying to imagine the green trail that would be left.

The feel was wrong and he swiftly sucked on his fingers, soaking them in saliva, before running them down his chest again. This time he could imagine the bright green streaks and with a hoarse cry he came suddenly, spattering his recently cleaned front with a different fluid.

He stood trembling as he let the sonic clean him afresh and cursed himself softly. Something told him he’d be envisaging green blood for a long while to come. Not ideal when expecting a visit from the bearer of that tantalising blood.

When he couldn’t realistically hide in the shower any longer he screwed up his courage, raised his metaphorical shields, and stamped back into sickbay.

Christine had cleared up and the lieutenant had gone. Luckily back to quarters rather than the morgue. Kirk would probably have had him transported into empty space if he didn’t think he could trust him to follow orders.

McCoy retreated to his office and determinedly didn’t think of the hobgoblin or his green blood for the rest of his shift.

By the time the First Officer strode back in, McCoy had relaxed back into his usual aggressive stance and felt confident he could face whatever punishment the Vulcan bastard wanted to inflict.

“Doctor. I wish you to understand why you are receiving punishment.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. How typical of the ice cold Vulcan.

“Because I told you to stick it?” he hazarded, in wry amusement.

“Negative. The punishment is for the ‘half-breed’ reference. I had expected that you, as a doctor, would have less intolerance for differences in genetics. As your poet put it – if you prick us, do we not bleed?”

McCoy froze, eyes wide.

“Perhaps that was a poor choice of analogy,” Spock acknowledged.

McCoy tried to think of something to say. Tried to force his thoughts onto safer topics. He wet his suddenly dry lips and Spock clearly noted the action.

“Or perhaps it was a fortunate choice of wording.” Spock arched an eyebrow at the doctor’s continued unusual silence before raising one arm and deliberately dragging a nail across the skin.

McCoy’s eyes were riveted to the green tinge that was left in the indentation. His heart was hammering and his body was reacting despite himself.

“Fascinating,” Spock murmured.

Agitated blue eyes flicked up and were caught in an intense dark gaze that seemed to bore right into his soul. McCoy shifted awkwardly, uncertain what that gaze heralded.

Then suddenly Spock was turning and leaving.

“Wait!” McCoy burst out unintentionally. He flushed as the Vulcan glanced back at him. “Thought I was due a punishment?”

He burned brighter as he realised how inappropriate that sounded out loud.

“I believe that will be better served another time,” Spock replied primly before continuing on his way.

McCoy flopped back into his chair and cursed.

He was definitely screwed.


	3. Chapter Three

It would be fair to say Bones wasn’t paying attention but that wasn’t really unusual.

He was hardly ever needed at these meetings. The only reason he was here at all was because Kirk liked to demonstrate his authority. Regulations stated that all department heads should attend so that’s what they had to do. Regardless of whether their opinion was ever requested or listened to.

Today’s discussion didn’t concern Medical at all as far as he could tell from the little he’d listened to. Mostly he’d drifted into his own thoughts of experimental drugs and techniques. How he could adapt them for different species or situations. He’d had some of his best ideas in meetings.

And lost some of them just as quickly if he got distracted.

“I believe you will find Doctor McCoy agrees with me.”

The hobgoblin’s voice broke through the doctor’s musings and McCoy snapped his eyes back into focus.

“What!?” He straightened in his seat, prepared to refute the Vulcan’s claim based on nothing but the belief he’d _never_ agree with him, when his eye caught a slight movement.

The Vulcan was tracing circular patterns on the back of his hand with a solitary nail.

On anyone else it could be dismissed as an unconscious gesture but this was _Spock_. That meant it was deliberate.

McCoy swallowed. He could only interpret it as a reminder. Of what the Vulcan had that McCoy _wanted_.

Kirk let out a sigh, apparently interpreting McCoy’s outburst as a request for information because he hadn’t been listening.

“Do you think it’s worth beaming down to find out what happened to the _ISS Archon_?”

McCoy shot a panicked glance at Spock but the Vulcan couldn’t say anything without it seeming highly suspicious. Which meant the doctor had to decide which way to jump without any idea what was right or wrong. Or even what was at stake.

“Been a hell of a long time since that ship went missing,” he hazarded. “Not sure what the Empire really expects to gain from finding it.”

Across from him, Spock delicately dug his nail into soft skin leaving a slight green line. McCoy tried very hard not to stare or lick his lips.

He took that reaction to mean he’d answered correctly. Though what he’d get for it remained unknown.

Kirk however wasn’t ready to give up.

“They could have tactical knowledge on the Romulans. The war was still ongoing when the _Archon_ was lost. It’s possible they had valuable information.”

“Information that would doubtless be out of date by now,” Spock interjected.

McCoy leant forward.

“Seems to me, if anyone was left alive from that ship they’d have made contact somehow by now. Sent a beacon with their logs at least. So either everyone died on impact – in which case the ship’s probably wrecked – or there’s something on that planet that wiped them out. In which case you can count me out of any landing party.”

He leant back with the air of someone who’d said all that needed to be said. He carefully kept his eyes from the hand still resting on the table across from him.

Instead he watched as the captain weighed the chance of seizing an advantage against the risk of losing valuable commodities.

“Admiral McNulty’s probably trying to set me up for failure. Either I go down and find nothing or I wind up with a dead crew. What was that memo about Eminiar VII?”

McCoy tuned out as the discussion moved on but he couldn’t lose himself so easily anymore.

What the hell was Spock playing at?

It wasn’t that McCoy hadn’t expected the Vulcan to exploit his weakness to his advantage. Of _course_ he had. Vulcans were considered such an inferior species for their pacifist ways that Spock had to utilise every advantage he could, despite having proven his human half allowed him to ignore the Vulcan’s traditional pacifist tendencies.

Spock had managed to make himself indispensable to Captain Kirk by proving unfailingly loyal and unambitious so to a degree he had some measure of protection. McCoy had half expected to receive a similar style of offer. A bargain to ensure the doctor stopped declaiming Spock’s inferior nature at every opportunity. However it had been _days_ and this was the first time Spock had even obliquely referenced the knowledge he had over McCoy.

A request for support over some unimportant and irrelevant mission didn’t seem like the type of thing Spock would be angling for.

The end of the meeting couldn’t come soon enough for McCoy but, unlike usual, he didn’t immediately get up to leave. Instead he continued to stare into the distance giving a credible appearance of someone completely uninterested in everything around him.

Kirk had disappeared, presumably straight back to the bridge, paranoid as ever about takeover attempts and people getting too big for their boots.

Uhura had slunk out after him, eyeing Scotty with interest and offering a flirtatious smile. The engineer was totally oblivious as usual, far too caught up in his warp theories and engine statistics, and he’d left without a word or look. Sulu however did notice her attention and didn’t look happy about it as he left after them.

Which had left Spock. Still sat where he had been and still continuing to stare at McCoy.

Leonard brought his eyes back to lock with Spock’s and for several minutes they simply stared at each other.

Although Spock’s eyes were among his most human features, McCoy could not read the expression in them. The intense look made him want to squirm in his seat but he’d be damned if he gave the Vulcan that sort of satisfaction. Instead he glared back.

Spock broke first, probably because it was hardly logical to sit and stare at the Chief Medical Officer.

“I have what I believe will be a mutually beneficial proposal to put to you.”

McCoy couldn’t help it. His eyes flickered down to the all too significant mark on Spock’s hand.

“I’m listening.”

“I am willing to offer certain rewards for your… compliance.”

“Compliance? Compliance in what? I ain’t risking my neck for any price.”

Spock arched an eyebrow at him.

“Fortunately I do not anticipate requiring your assistance often. I would not even seek your dubious medical skill if I were not compelled to by regulations.”

McCoy scowled.

“You were happy enough to have my assistance ten minutes ago,” he pointed out.

“Merely for demonstrative purposes. I am confident the captain would have made the right decision as soon as he realised the Admiral was undoubtedly working to embarrass him.”

“So why _are_ you offering this deal?”

Spock’s features became slightly more rigid.

“Before long I will be forced to deal with a matter of some personal importance. Your position as Chief Medical Officer will be useful to facilitate my treatment.”

“Treatment? This a health concern?”

Spock hesitated before replying.

“Broadly speaking, yes. It is peculiar to Vulcans and must be dealt with on our home planet.”

“If it’s a medical matter then why are we even making a deal? Not that I’m not interested,” his gaze flickered again. “As you said, I’m CMO. I _have_ to help you. Can’t keep my position if I just let the crew die.”

“This condition is completely private. No offworlder may know of it. You will not be able to record it in my medical records or even inform the captain of it.”

“So you want me to use my medical clout to get you to Vulcan without letting Kirk know _why_?”

“I will expect you to use any and every method at your disposal to convince the captain to take me to Vulcan when necessary.”

McCoy frowned.

“That serious?”

“I would hardly be making such a deal with you if it were not.”

They stared at each other several long moments before McCoy spoke again.

“And what will I get in return? ‘Cause it sounds like this might be a lot more trouble than you’re making it sound.”

“I will allow you to indulge your… fetish.”

McCoy licked his lips unconsciously.

“Can _I_ cut you?”

“You may.”

“Will… will you cut me?”

Spock’s eyebrow arched.

“If you desire it.”

McCoy shifted, uncomfortably aware of how aroused just the thought of this made him. He tried to focus his thoughts. This wasn’t helped any by Spock leaning forward.

“If you are able to facilitate my return to Vulcan at the appropriate time then I shall allow you a shift rotation to satisfy your cravings however you will. If you do not, it is likely I shall be dead.”

McCoy’s arousal vanished at the blunt statement.

“Dead? You could _die_ from this?”

“That is what I believe I said.” Spock leant back looking far too composed before rising gracefully. “Do I have your agreement Doctor?”

McCoy nodded numbly. Spock inclined his head in acknowledgment before leaving without another word.

Leonard continued to sit stunned.

Spock was putting an awful lot of faith in him. Which showed just how desperate the Vulcan must be.

Dead. He could die.

McCoy wasn’t sure how he felt about that. A few weeks back and he’d probably have said he’d plan a party to celebrate but he wasn’t sure that was really true. Death had no appeal to him even if it was an annoying stuck-up First Officer. But he’d probably have accepted the fact of it readily enough.

Now though. Things were different.

Spock was still an annoying stuck-up First Officer but he had something special. Something that McCoy wanted desperately. And if it meant he had to deal with Spock’s logic and bamboozle Kirk with medical jargon to get it then he’d do that.

He finally rose and left the meeting room.

He couldn’t quite shift the prospect of Spock’s demise from his thoughts. What would it be like without the Vulcan aboard? Asides from the blood aspect?

McCoy may not often agree with the man but he would acknowledge that he ran the crew efficiently. And he respected that he didn’t over use the Agony Booth or agoniser. Again, it was for logical reasons rather than humanitarian but McCoy could hardly throw brick bats on that score.

Leonard had served on a couple of ships previously where it had seemed a never ending game of dead-men’s-shoes. The _Enterprise_ had an unusual stability because of Spock’s strange lack of ambition for the captaincy and it was that that allowed them so much success.

McCoy would even go so far as to say he enjoyed serving on board. Knowing from day-to-day who was in command and not having to switch allegiance every week.

By the time he reached sickbay he’d concluded that, even without the benefit of allowed access to the copper-based blood, it was worth ensuring the Vulcan’s survival.

And with the prospect of indulging, he’d damn well make sure he survived. By any means necessary.


	4. Chapter Four

McCoy had managed it. He’d argued and reasoned, and even threatened a little, but he’d got his patient safely to Vulcan.

It had helped that Spock’s behaviour had been increasingly erratic and, quite frankly, nobody wanted to risk their lives for the sake of a detour. Not when their mission was neither profitable nor interesting.

Leonard was now reclined in his office with a well earned glass of brandy. Spock was planetside having beamed down by himself for his wedding.

McCoy couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought. The hobgoblin getting married in what amounted to a type of shotgun wedding. Get hitched or die was how it basically translated.

He swallowed a generous mouthful and briefly contemplated the prospect of a Vulcan in heat. If he hadn’t seen the effects himself he wouldn’t have believed it. It was a wonder that the females survived if it was half as rough as it had promised. Probably they were made of tougher stuff than humans and merely got a bit battered.

His mind fizzed with the sudden image of a half mad, half naked Spock, with elegant fingers coated with viscous green blood. He licked his lips and swallowed some more liquid to burn down his throat.

That was a thought to save for later.

He wondered when he might expect his reward. Spock would probably be dirt-side for a few days… then he’d likely need a couple of days recovery time. So perhaps a week.

Maybe he could enjoy that thought now after all.

Raised voices from the main ward distracted him from his train of thought and brought him out of his office. He was surprised to see Spock stood with Captain Kirk and arched an inquisitive eyebrow at the pair. Spock noticed and replied in kind but Kirk was too busy berating Spock to notice the doctor.

“I don’t care what you tell me. You’ve hardly got an unblemished record in being open with health matters, have you? So you are not going back on duty until cleared by Doctor McCoy.”

He finally glanced over to McCoy and snapped.

“Give him a thorough check up. If there’s the slightest sign of this… whatever, I want you to send him right back down.”

McCoy didn’t bother replying. Kirk didn’t expect it. He just expected to be obeyed.

As the captain strode out, McCoy gestured Spock to an examination room.

The Vulcan followed calmly enough and settled onto the biobed without a word. McCoy followed his example and contemplated the readings without unnecessary commentary.

“Well your testosterone levels have dropped but your norepinephrine and dopamine levels are still abnormally high. I’d have expected less of those and more serotonin and oxytocin.” He frowned at the still irregular readings. “Can you still die from this?”

It was spoken rhetorically but Spock answered anyway.

“You’re the doctor,” he said. “You tell me.”

McCoy arched a brow and mentally noted the contraction but continued with his analysis.

“Well… you’re sure going to be experiencing lack of concentration, hormonal surges… possibly headaches or muscle spasms… but die? I’m not sure.”

“I would rather not find out,” Spock told him seriously.

“We could try giving you a norepinephrine-dopamine reuptake inhibitor,” McCoy suggested before muttering more to himself, “but I don’t understand why your levels are still so damn high.”

“I did not claim the female,” Spock told him tersely.

“What!? Why in hell not? After all the damn strings I pulled to get you here and now you decide to renegade on our deal?”

Spock sat up so he could stare at the doctor.

“I am not in fact renegading. I promised you may indulge yourself for a period and I shall fulfil that debt.”

“Can’t very well do that if you’re dead now can you?”

“Which is why I wish to propose a new deal.”

“A new deal? Are you out of your Vulcan mind? You just need to get back down there, do the deed-”

McCoy found himself slammed up against the wall, Spock’s hand gripping his wrist tight enough to jar the bones.

“She rejected me. She chose her lover to champion her. I killed him.”

“Then you could have taken her!” McCoy growled back.

“I did not want her. She did not desire me. _You_ do.”

McCoy swallowed.

“Your blood, sure,” he allowed.

Spock leant in closer and inhaled.

“A commodity you’ll find nowhere else, I can provide,” he promised.

McCoy couldn’t help but inhale Spock’s scent himself, the Vulcan was leaning so close. He realised he could smell the taint of his unique blood. Perhaps the Vulcan had injured himself during his encounter with her champion. The idea made him want to search out the wound and just breath it in.

He willed himself to remain calm.

“What deal?”

Spock pulled back slightly.

“Let me claim you and you may satiate your desire as often as you wish.”

“Claim me? What in hell does that mean?”

“We shall engage in sex to satisfy my blood fever,” Spock told him plainly.

McCoy couldn’t help it. The smell of green blood had already excited him and that blunt statement just sent a surge of lust through him. It may have been the cold-blooded Vulcan speaking but it had been far too long for Leonard and even he would admit the First Officer had a certain appeal. Probably the beard.

Spock must have felt the doctor’s interest because he pushed harder against him.

“I will also implant a telepathic bond.”

McCoy’s head snapped back hitting the wall so hard it made him wince.

“Like hell you will!”

Spock actually frowned.

The doctor pushed him as hard as he could but he was only strong enough to cause the Vulcan to rock rhythmically against him. That wasn’t a helpful response.

“Do you need a bond?” he demanded, enjoying the action despite himself.

Spock hesitated in his answer, even as he continued the rhythmic movement.

“Not at present. Yet I will when Pon Farr comes again.”

“And when’s that likely?” McCoy forced his own hips to remain still.

“Seven years,” the First Officer admitted. McCoy glared into those dark eyes and didn’t blink.

“No bond,” he insisted.

For a moment they both fell still and McCoy worried the Vulcan would leave. Declare their agreement null and void… and honestly, how would McCoy really be able to protest that? A verbal agreement no-one knew had taken place about a subject no-one was allowed to know about.

However when the Vulcan did actually step back it was with a nod of acceptance.

“Very well. Meet me in my quarters after your shift ends to complete the treatment.”

As the Vulcan turned to leave the room McCoy recovered his scattered wits.

“Wait just a goddamn second!”

Spock turned back and eyed him, his gaze resting conspicuously on the evidence of McCoy’s arousal. McCoy chose to ignore that for the moment.

“I am the Chief Medical Officer here and the captain _specifically_ told you, you were not to return to duty without my say so.”

The hobgoblin arched an eyebrow at him.

“As you have already ascertained, only one course of action will alleviate my symptoms. That will not occur here or now.”

“ _Exactly_.” McCoy managed to take a few steps forward. “So, _technically_ , you are still medically unfit for duty. And that places you directly in my care.”

Spock watched him cautiously.

“I do not require your medical treatments,” he replied carefully.

“You’re bleeding Spock.”

The Vulcan showed genuine surprise and McCoy gave a half shrug.

“I can smell it,” he explained. “So why don’t you let me… take a look.” He gestured to the biobed again.

There was a pause while Spock seemingly considered the wisdom of acquiescing but apparently he saw the logic in the situation. He moved back and sat on the bed.

McCoy couldn’t help but lick his lips in anticipation.

“Where’d he cut you?”

The Vulcan had to think about that.

“I was unaware of it but now I think about events… I believe he caught my shoulder blade.”

The doctor nodded and moved to stand behind him.

“Take off your shirt,” he instructed.

Spock unhesitatingly obeyed and McCoy’s eyes dilated as a new surge of lust swept through him.

Right in front of his eyes, a foot away from his nose, was a perfectly clean slice of green. He was drawn hypnotically forward, inhaling deeply and pressing himself firmly to the edge of the bed.

“It’s a light cut,” he murmured softly, letting his breath blow over it. “Don’t even need a regenerator really.”

He reached his fingers out to trace the line but the blood was long dried and hadn’t even run. It was a beautifully fine cut though. Elegant and narrow, it would fade to nothing in days.

“If you believe it needs no further treatment-” Spock moved to stand but McCoy grabbed his shoulder with a growl.

It was an instinctive reaction and he’d automatically reached with his right hand, thus catching Spock’s right shoulder – right where the cut was.

The rough motion broke the shallow wound open and several tiny beads of green welled up. McCoy wasn’t sure afterwards whether it was specifically that or Spock’s tiny almost unnoticed hiss of pain that tipped the balance. All he knew was that he was suddenly lost to his arousal.

“Thought ya said ah could satisfy my desire whenever ah liked?” he drawled, rocking his hips gently and smearing the drops in smudges that resembled a strange inkblot test while his mind created images to match.

Spock was tense beneath his hand but he managed to bite out, “I did.”

McCoy took that for consent, especially as the Vulcan made no further attempt to leave.

He took the time to memorise the details, letting his arousal simmer. Despite their deal he’d rather not be pathetically asking for this too often. Better to commit it to memory now for his own private enjoyment later.

But sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph was it good!

And not just the wound but the whole vista before him. The shading along the spine, the blank canvas of those shoulder blades that were just _begging_ for crescent marks from fingers dug in too deep.

And the heat! McCoy could feel the waves rolling off the Vulcan that just served to carry his damnable scent further. Vulcans might have a lower body temperature than humans but it was still warmer than the cool air on-board ship.

He couldn’t help but groan as his eyes drifted shut and he inhaled deeply. He wanted to taste too. To lick that expanse of skin. But that seemed too personal, too intimate.

Best avoid that. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough stimulation at present. More than enough.

He rocked harder but deliberately refrained from moving his hands. Either because he couldn’t trust them not to grasp those shoulders or because he wanted to keep this clinical. His mind was too fogged to decide.

He came, still fully clothed, rocking against the biobed with a rough, almost surprised gasp. For a few precious seconds of bliss there was silence.

“May I be permitted to return to my quarters?” Spock asked, and McCoy couldn’t tell what emotion was hidden in that harsh tone.

“Sure,” McCoy drawled. “Just so you know,” he spoke as conversationally as he could. “You’re on medical leave for the rest of the day. I’ll check your norepinephrine and dopamine levels again tomorrow before signing you as fit to work.”

“That is satisfactory. I am confident my levels will have stabilised by then.”

McCoy nodded and risked a glance at Spock’s face but the Vulcan didn’t want to stay any longer apparently and left with as much haste as the doctor had ever seen him show.

For a long time he stood wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. It had seemed like such a good idea but he hadn’t really considered any consequences. And now he was pretty well nigh committed. Spock could still die theoretically.

And now McCoy had had a taste he just wanted _more_.

Finally he decided that the best thing to do was get back to his office, clean himself up, and finish his drink.

Something told him he’d be needing the Dutch courage by shift end.


	5. Chapter Five

Leonard’s emotions had been all over the place during the rest of his shift.

There was certainly some fear. After all, if Spock had changed his mind then the logical course of action would be to kill the doctor outright. No-one would question the First Officer and without the doctor alive, no-one would know the Vulcan’s shame.

There was also some trepidation in case Spock _hadn’t_ changed his mind. While he wasn’t against homosexual relations, he’d never actually been involved in one. Slicing and dicing patients for his pleasure really didn’t count when he contemplated what Spock would be expecting.

It was the closest he’d come to a _relationship_ with anyone since Jocelyn and, while Spock was hardly a romantic partner, the idea was still unsettling.

However he could mitigate this concern by remembering the heady promise of hybrid blood on offer. If Spock hadn’t changed his mind then Leonard knew he would not break their deal. The Vulcan was quite prideful about keeping his word.

He might even admit to a few moments of anticipation.

However, standing outside the First Officer’s quarters, his overriding feeling was once again fear. It was only the knowledge that Spock could still possibly die that made McCoy press the door chime aggressively.

The door opened silently and Leonard stepped inside deliberately. He was determined not to show any fear to the First Officer so he forced a relaxed pose, bouncing slightly on his heels as he cast a curious glance around.

It was as orderly as he would have expected but he was surprised by the number of artefacts and personal touches. Somehow he’d assumed the room would be barren as the day he’d moved in.

He tensed slightly as Spock moved closer but then blinked in surprise as the Vulcan extended a tumbler. McCoy took the glass wordlessly and glanced briefly at it.

“It is not poisoned,” Spock told him.

McCoy glared and purposely took a swallow. Brandy – a cognac if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Would you care to sit?” The Vulcan gestured to a chair at his desk and McCoy arched a brow at him.

“I didn’t come for the conversation,” he suggested. “How about we move this along?”

So saying he stepped past him and into Spock’s bedroom.

He eyed the archaic weaponry hung above the bed with interest. Blades were always a subject of curiosity and he wondered if Spock kept them sharp.

A hand on his shoulder made him turn and he found himself stood closer to Spock than he’d ever been. He watched as the Vulcan seemingly studied his face, allowing his fingers to trace across his jaw, over his cheekbone and along his temple.

Then he was surprised yet again as Spock carefully leant in and pressed their lips together. It had been an awful long while since anyone had kissed McCoy so tenderly and he didn’t see any reason to pull away from it. However when Spock moved back he did feel compelled to ask, “What are you doing?”

Spock arched an elegant eyebrow at him as though bemused.

“I was endeavouring to ensure you enjoy the experience.

“You don’t have to do that,” the doctor drawled.

“I believe I do.”

“It ain’t that I don’t want yer to. It’s just… well, our deal didn’t specify I had to enjoy it.”

Again the Vulcan studied him intently before replying.

“I am a touch telepath. I shall not enjoy the experience if you do not.”

McCoy couldn’t help but snort in amusement at that.

“So it is really all about you? Well, guess it ain’t so bad if your enjoyment depends on mine.” He smirked and reached down to pull his tunic off. Spock’s eyes watched avidly as the doctor’s chest was revealed, then they locked with McCoy’s defiant gaze.

“You will strip and get on the bed,” Spock ordered.

Typically, McCoy wouldn’t obey without at least one challenging remark.

“You’ll be stripping too right?”

Spock didn’t reply verbally but began pulling his sash off. McCoy grinned and hurried to get rid of the rest of his clothes.

It wasn’t particularly that he was eager – although he was ready enough to let Spock have that impression – but he was nervous and he certainly didn’t want the Vulcan to know that. The only way to avoid Spock knowing was to keep the pace fast so McCoy never had the chance to stop and think.

Unfortunately, Spock seemed determined to savour his victory over the doctor.

McCoy had laid on his back on the bed, watching while Spock took an unnecessary long time removing and folding his clothes.

When Spock finally crawled onto the bed and shifted McCoy over onto his hands and knees, the doctor had gone willingly, thinking the pace was finally picking up. That however was not the case.

Spock traced his fingers down the length of Leonard’s spine and then rested his hands firmly on the doctor’s buttocks. McCoy started as he felt the wet press of Spock’s tongue against his coccyx. The damn Vulcan then ran a wet path right up his spinal column producing an involuntary shiver in McCoy.

“What the hell you doing?”

“I am claiming you,” Spock replied calmly, before placing little licks all the way down his back. McCoy forced himself not to respond to that remark, or attention, but he couldn’t help his little cry of surprise when he felt that tongue press against him more intimately.

“Are you…?”

Spock pulled away to answer the unvocalised question.

“I must learn your taste,” he told him before suddenly pressing his tongue back in.

McCoy moaned.

The Vulcan’s tongue was surprisingly firm and agile and Leonard couldn’t help but relax to the enjoyable feeling. It was a strange sensation and like nothing he had ever experienced before.

Then the damp tongue pulled away being replaced immediately by a slicked finger. The deeper intrusion made the doctor clench involuntarily until Spock brushed against his prostate. He gasped and began panting softly.

That was… that was…

“Again,” he asked.

Spock obliged him, alternatively working on stretching the passage and stimulating his gland. He was quick to add a second finger.

McCoy was beginning to understand why so many of the crew were willing to engage with same sex partners. There were clearly new levels of enjoyment to be found in this activity. He made sure to breathe out and consciously relax when he felt Spock pushing a third finger alongside the other two.

He could probably learn to enjoy this sensation.

It was just as he’d thought that though that the fingers were removed. There was a brief lull while Spock presumably slicked himself ready for entry but it was just long enough for McCoy’s worry to return.

Fingers were one thing, a cock was another.

He tensed and his muscles involuntarily contracted when he felt the blunt tip press against him. Somewhat to Leonard’s surprise, the Vulcan didn’t force his way in but simply rubbed the slick head up and down his ass crack. He felt a wave of gratitude that he’d never, ever vocalise but it didn’t help him relax.

He concentrated on breathing deeply but each time that hot organ passed over his opening he felt the ring constrict, denying entry.

“This ain’t going to work,” he muttered, making to pull away. Spock gripped him hard.

“We have an agreement. I am not prepared to relinquish my due yet.”

McCoy looked back over his shoulder with an arched brow.

“Wasn’t suggesting giving up,” he drawled. “But if you want me relaxed we’ll need a different position.”

Spock considered this and reluctantly released his hold. McCoy promptly dropped down and rolled himself onto his back.

“That’s better,” he grinned.

“This position is not recommended for easy penetration.”

“What yer forgetting darlin’ is that you promised me a sight of blood in return. You want me relaxed? That’s the way to achieve it. I need to see you _bleed_.”

Spock could see the doctor responding to the thoughts of that alone and decided it was a logical approach to try.

“You have your scalpel?”

It was a redundant question as McCoy never went anywhere without it. The human rolled briefly away to retrieve it before repositioning himself comfortably. He caressed the object lovingly before handing it to the Vulcan, his breathing already noticeably unsteady.

Spock eyed the doctor’s naked arousal before reaching down cautiously with the blade.

“Where should I cut?”

McCoy spread his fingers wide upon his thighs.

“Right here,” he murmured.

Spock pressed the blade lightly against the plump skin and noted with interest the doctor’s widely dilating pupils and suddenly hitched breathing. As he drew the blade smoothly across, McCoy let out a long sigh and visibly relaxed.

“Fascinating,” the Vulcan murmured.

McCoy grinned lazily and reached a hand out for the scalpel. Spock unhesitatingly handed it back and hovered over the human, hand braced either side of his head. He watched as McCoy surveyed the chest above him almost tenderly before casually reaching out with the blade and making a short cut just under a nipple.

The sight of the green blood brought an obvious flush of arousal to the doctor and his mouth opened unconsciously.

Spock chose that moment of distraction to push into the unresistant man.

However, despite his intense arousal and relaxed muscles, he was still a virgin to anal sex and the pressure of Spock’s engorged member breaching him brought tears to his eyes.

Spock stilled and reached to wipe them away.

“Do not cry,” he asked. “Your pain is my pain. Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

“Damn touch telepaths,” McCoy grumbled nevertheless breathing deeply and reaching out a remarkably steady hand to trace through the thin trail of blood.

Spock remained stationary as his partner adjusted to the intrusion and even waited while the doctor brought the scalpel up again to make a matching cut to his other side.

As the doctor’s attention became focused on tracing patterns on his skin, Spock began gently moving again, a slowly deepening thrusting. This time the human relaxed into the motion and when Spock dug deep enough to hit his prostate again McCoy instinctively gripped his shoulders with a gasp.

The feel of nails digging scratches into his shoulders spurred Spock onto a harder, faster rhythm and he was relieved that the doctor remained plaint because he was uncertain if he could stop himself now.

McCoy stared up at the Vulcan. It was strangely incongruous to see his composed face and know it was the same person slowly driving him insane.

But it was too dry and Spock’s face was too calm… McCoy needed… needed…

He surged forward and bit Spock’s lip harshly. As the Vulcan gasped in obvious surprise, Leonard leaned back with a feral grin.

There it was. Those wide, dark eyes and that lushous, rich blood.

“That’s more like it,” McCoy grinned.

Spock stared at him in apparent shock before diving down and forcing his own mouth upon McCoy’s. Leonard gasped in surprise and the Vulcan used the opportunity to slip his tongue in. There was a taste of copper but beneath that a flavour McCoy didn’t recognise. He sucked down the blood and sought the unknown taste, tracing every possible patch with his own tongue.

He came with a groan, splattering both their bellies. Spock thrust hard once, twice and then came deep inside McCoy. The doctor could feel the pulsing jerks as the Vulcan let go his control. For a moment he thought the Vulcan would collapse down on top of him – his trembling arms certainly gave that impression – but almost immediately Spock pushed up and away.

“You may leave now.”

McCoy blinked, honestly surprised.

It wasn’t that he’d expected to _cuddle_ or lay in each others arms or anything but, still…

“Yeah,” he muttered, forcing himself to sit upright. He could feel the Vulcan’s semen slipping out of him. “Guess you don’t want people talking if I sneak out in the morning.”

Spock glanced at him.

“I should have thought you would not want that,” he said accusatorily.

“Well, no!” McCoy blustered, making himself stand and ignoring the wet feeling down his ass.

Spock silently reached and pulled on his underwear while McCoy awkwardly pulled his rumpled clothes back on. He hesitated briefly once he was dressed and glanced at the seated Vulcan. His bloodied lip had already dried but it was still enough to pull Leonard towards him. He stopped himself before he did something really stupid like kiss the man.

“You better let me heal that,” he offered, avoiding looking at the injury in favour of focusing his attention on, of all things, Spock’s hand.

“I believe I will take care of it myself. It seems likely to cause you distress.”

McCoy huffed.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

He shifted uneasily from foot to foot before announcing,

“You still have to come to sickbay first thing. I have to check your levels before declaring you fit for duty.”

“Of course,” Spock agreed placidly. McCoy glared at him before stalking to the exit.

“Sleep well, you damn green-blooded hobgoblin,” he threw back over his shoulder before leaving with what dignity he could.


	6. Chapter Six

Leonard knew he was pathetic but at least there was no reason for anyone else to know. Especially the damned green-blooded hobgoblin.

He had quite determinedly shoved the whole experience from his mind and tried to focus on work but there hadn’t been much happening. Kirk had adopted a semi-sentient probe that thought he was its creator, but from a Medical standpoint things were dead. No-one needed genuine treatment and no-one warranted special treatment.

So now he was lying alone in his cabin, half drunk on whiskey and unwillingly remembering every damn thing. Again.

He basically had three options. Go back to Spock – which from the terms of their agreement he was perfectly entitled to do. However that would mean showing yet more weakness to the Vulcan and _that_ he wouldn’t do.

Second – find another fuck buddy. It was certainly doable on a ship of 400 but he wasn’t sure if it would even work. What he was craving was unusually specific.

Or third – the only realistic option. Go back to pleasuring himself.

The only trouble with that was things weren’t so simple anymore. It was no longer just about the blood.

It was a very unique sort of hell, McCoy decided. He’d had the Vulcan once – or rather Spock had had him – and that was all he was going to get.

McCoy hated it but he wanted _more_. More of the hybrid blood, naturally, but also more of the domineering Vulcan. He was craving that feeling of being overpowered, being subdued, and yet strangely not feeling threatened. He’d actually felt unusually protected. And that was an experience rare on this ship.

The memory of Spock’s gentleness in his claiming, and particularly the wiping away of his unconscious tears, kept flashing into McCoy’s mind.

He felt used and rejected which was _ridiculous_. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t accepted Spock’s terms or even _wanted_ a relationship. And it wasn’t as if he wasn’t permitted to approach Spock. Whenever he wanted he could demand blood payment – quite literally. However he knew that wouldn’t be enough. He still wanted that but it wasn’t all he wanted now.

McCoy rolled over and deposited the whiskey bottle by the side of the bed and then gathered the supplies he’d liberated from sickbay earlier. He stared at the objects and wondered just how his life had led to this.

In one hand he held a syringe of hybrid blood, in the other a dildo liberated from an inexperienced ensign.

The blood from the stores wasn’t really an appropriate substitute. It lacked the vibrancy of living blood. It wouldn’t flow right and the smell was dulled. However it would do for his current purposes.

Laying the objects beside him he settled back more comfortably against his pillow and picked up his blade. It was almost a ritual now so that he couldn’t even imagine starting any other way. He drew the blade smoothly across his thigh, watching the blood welling up. For a few seconds then he simply ran his fingers through the liquid, letting it coat his digits thoroughly. Then, with a slight tensing, he reached between his own legs and pushed his index finger inside himself.

It hurt and he halted awkwardly, not sure whether to just give this up or push on – literally and figuratively. But as he lay there his body naturally adjusted and the pain faded. Experimentally he pushed further and decided it actually wasn’t so bad. Not good yet but not bad.

He remembered Spock’s hot tongue probing him and felt a wave of loss and regret. Almost aggressively he thrust a second finger in. He couldn’t help the tiny cry of distress the intrusion caused him but in a way he felt he deserved the pain. Then his fingers brushed his prostate and he shuddered. _That_ was good.

He rocked gently several minutes before suddenly introducing the third finger. He was aroused now and his body was ready for pleasure but he had to remove his hand to prepare for the next step.

Shivering slightly he reached for the dildo and syringe to liberally coat the object, running his hand around it to try and convey some warmth. The sight of the green made him twitch in anticipation and he hurried to press it against his stretched opening.

Immediately he knew this wouldn’t work.

Vulcan penises, though not abnormally different, were still not the same as human. And this dildo was modelled on a human organ. Put simply it was the wrong shape and felt uncomfortable pushing inside him.

Also there was the logistical challenge of simply reaching to push it in the right way. In order to stimulate his prostate he had to stretch his arm uncomfortably.

Then there was the simple absence of _weight_. It wasn’t that the Vulcan had pressed down on him but he had been _there_ , hovering above him, legs pressed close to his own.

McCoy stopped to re-evaulate proceedings. He was still aroused, although nowhere near completion yet, and things would have to change to get him there.

Perhaps if he could replicate the feel of something large over him…

Shifting uncomfortably, he pulled the long pillow from under his head and draped it between his legs so it rested against his chest. With nothing supporting his head he was now flat to the bed and he let his head tip back so he couldn’t see his pitiful substitution.

The feel was undoubtedly better however embarrassing the situation. It had the added benefit of providing his own cock with friction. With his free hand he groped until he caught up the syringe and he released a small quantity onto his palm.

He began thrusting again with his other hand, letting the motion push him to frot against his pillow, and clenched his blood smeared hand into a fist. Closing his eyes he imagined the damnable Vulcan was once again here with him.

_Oh_ , that was better.

As he felt himself losing sense of his actual surroundings he raised his clenched fist to his nose and inhaled. His own warmth had given some vitality to the cool blood and the scent was near enough to right to complete his illusion.

“Yes, Spock, yes!” he groaned, finally coming in long spurts.

He kept his eyes closed tight and tried to hang onto the deception but all the subtly wrong aspects were now crowding into his thoughts.

The stillness of the organ inside him… the dimensions that were unfamiliar… the softness of the pressure on his stomach… the silence…

He opened his eyes to take in the full disappointment and shoved the pillow roughly away. Then he seized the dildo, the syringe and even his precious scalpel and threw them across the room to crash into the divider. Sat up on the lonely bed he thrust both hands into his hair before remembering they were dirty. He drew them down and stared.

One palm coated green, the other red. He began to laugh to himself.

“And never the twain shall meet,” he muttered, none-the-less pressing both palms together and watching the colours smear into pretty streaks.

Then he reached again for his whiskey and determined to drink until he passed out.

In actual fact he fell asleep before he finished the bottle but he wasn’t a pretty sight when he awoke.

He was still smeared in blood, naked, splattered with semen and stinking of alcohol. A sonic shower cured his outward appearance but his mood was worse than ever and when he stomped into sickbay those who could avoid him did.

The one patient currently residing with them looked fearful at his approach but McCoy was barely aware of him. He stared briefly at the monitor, glanced over the man and then turned away completely uninterested. The man was in pain but he wasn’t actually bleeding.

His mind was still totally fixated and if anything, last night’s experience had made it worse. He wanted to see the hobgoblin. He wanted to see him laid out on one of his biobeds. He wanted to see him bleed and suffer and…

“I’m going up to the bridge,” he announced as casually as he could. Christine arched a pretty eyebrow at him but didn’t question the announcement. “Try and make sure everyone’s locked back in the morgue before I get back,” he suggested as he went.

Chapel smirked.

McCoy fidgeted as he rode the turbolift up. He had no real reason for going except to torment the Vulcan with his presence. Or more likely himself. Although he had every right to visit in order to assess the crew’s fitness he knew all he really wanted was to catch another whiff of the hybrid’s peculiar scent.

There was a discussion in progress as he stepped onto the deck.

“The Halkans have replied to your message Captain,” Uhura’s voice interrupted the chat. “They say they won’t allow any mining of their dilithium deposits.”

Kirk thumped his arm rest in annoyance.

“Why do they have to be difficult?” he asked of no-one in particular.

“Are they dealing with other powers?” McCoy suggested as he approached to stand beside Jim. “Stalling us while they broker another deal?”

Kirk considered that possibility but Spock turned to stare derisively at the doctor.

“We have no evidence that the Halkans have been in contact with anyone besides ourselves, Doctor. Your proposal is based purely on an emotional response.”

McCoy glared back at the Vulcan.

“Don’t mean it’s wrong. Humans have great instincts for gut feelings, Mister Spock.”

“Humans also respond overly fearfully when rational thought is required.”

“No-one on my bridge crew responds fearfully,” Kirk interjected.

“Indeed. No one on the bridge crew,” Spock agreed with a significant look to the doctor.

McCoy crossed his arms and stepped aggressively forward.

“No-one in Medical panics either,” he declared. “Every man and woman of them are calm in a crisis.”

Spock tilted his head.

“Such sentimentality for your staff. It is no wonder they are such infrequent visitors to the Agony Booth. You are too soft, Doctor.”

McCoy gripped the rail that now separated him from the First Officer.

“Did it ever occur to ya that they’re simply well trained? Obedient? Even more concerned with our alternative forms of punishment?”

“Freaky forms of punishment,” Sulu muttered quietly.

Not quietly enough though.

McCoy was already on edge from being so close but not close enough to the Vulcan. His nerves were tight and only needed an excuse for release. The unlucky helmsman had just provided it.

Silent as a ghost, McCoy stepped over, his ever present scalpel falling naturally into his palm. In one swift move he sliced it straight across Sulu’s face. The helmsman fell back in alarm at the unexpected attack and made to draw his own weapon when he was interrupted by the captain laughing.

“Back to your post,” Kirk ordered him with amusement.

Sulu glanced to the captain and back to the smoldering doctor before silently retaking his seat, blood dripping down his cheek. He flinched slightly when steady fingers brushed up the flow of blood.

“Doctor,” Kirk admonished slightly drawing the man’s attention away from the wound.

McCoy snapped his eyes across to the captain before turning to glare at Spock who had remained stationary throughout the display.

“I ain’t soft,” he snapped.

The Vulcan’s only response was to arch an eyebrow.

Jim laughed again, amused by the crew’s in fighting. While they were bickering amongst themselves, they weren’t conspiring against him. Even though Spock and McCoy weren’t prone to that, Jim still found their posturing entertaining.

“Why don’t you join me on a trip down to the planet Doctor?”

“You are going down to the surface?” Spock interrupted before McCoy could reply.

“Yes,” Kirk said decisively. “Maybe face-to-face we can… convince them to co-operate. And perhaps we’ll find evidence of other alien involvement.”

McCoy smirked smugly at Spock who looked unamused.

“Uhura?” Jim stood and called to the Communications Officer. “I want you to come too. See if you can’t use some womanly attributes to influence their thinking.”

Nyota frowned but stood unhesitatingly.

“Shall I accompany you Captain?” Spock suggested. “I will be able to access their databases to show there is no other alien involvement.” He sent another disparaging look McCoy’s way.

“I don’t think so Mister Spock,” Kirk replied with obvious amusement. “I think you and Doctor McCoy need a bit of distance right now. I’ll take Scotty. He’ll be able to hack their systems just as well.”

“Very well Captain,” Spock agreed watching as the trio stepped into the turbolift. His eyes locked once again with the doctor’s before the door shut and McCoy fought to keep his gaze aggressive.


	7. Chapter Seven

It had been one hell of a day and McCoy was honestly glad to see the back of it.

He’d woken up dirty and depressed, been hoisted into a strange parallel universe, and gotten chucked into a brig before being uncomfortably teleported back.

All he’d wanted at that point was to drink himself into a stupor but he’d still had to deal with Kirk’s paranoia which meant thorough physicals on all the away team and then, because life was a bitch, on Spock too. Apparently one couldn’t be too paranoid.

The damn Vulcan had watched him with that unnervingly intense gaze as he’d run through the regulation tests. McCoy had just tried to avoid his eye.

Now, thankfully, he was finally safe back in his quarters. Or as safe as you ever were on board a Terran Empire vessel. He’d only just pulled off his medical tunic and sash when his door chime rang out.

“Unless you have authority to override my door you can just-”

The door swished open before he could finish.

“I do in fact have the appropriate override code,” Spock commented as he stepped inside. “I was however attempting to be polite.”

McCoy snorted even as he tried to put a little more distance between them.

“Since when do you care to be polite?”

“Given that this is what might be termed a ‘social’ call, I thought it would be a logical way to put you at ease.”

McCoy instinctively tensed. Spock didn’t make social calls.

“I wished to discuss the experiences of today,” Spock continued, standing with his usual regulation pose in the center of McCoy’s living space.

McCoy moved to sit behind his desk creating a psychological barrier between them.

“Did it have to be now? ‘cause frankly I’m not sure I’m in the mood for a nice chitchat right now.”

Spock’s dark eyes lingered on the doctor for an awkwardly long moment before he spoke again.

“I encountered your counterpart,” he said simply.

McCoy nodded, having gathered that much from their impromptu debriefing during the physicals earlier.

“Yeah. Saw yours too,” he added. “Right before I got chucked in the brig.”

“I experienced yours at rather closer quarters.”

The way Spock said that brought the doctor’s attention back up to study his face.

“You claim him too?” he asked with an uncontrollable touch of jealousy.

“Negative. I felt no need to do so. I was however compelled to examine his mind.”

McCoy blinked. That hadn’t been mentioned earlier. He felt strangely vulnerable, as if it was _his_ mind and not some other McCoy’s that had been pried open.

“Oh?” he managed to say.

“Indeed. It was most… fascinating.”

McCoy glanced up sharply as Spock took a deliberate step closer.

“Your counterpart was most desirous of what you in fact rejected,” Spock told him.

“What _I_ rejected?” McCoy asked in confusion, thinking of how Spock had basically kicked him out of bed.

“Yes. He wished very much to bond with my counterpart.”

“He wanted to be _subjugated_ to him?” The doctor couldn’t help but sound alarmed. His own mind was reminding him of how it felt to lie beneath Spock, to feel himself trapped, pinned, covered, protected…

He flushed slightly. It wasn’t helped any by the fact that Spock now loomed over him, stood tall in front of McCoy’s desk while the doctor sat looking up at him.

“You do not comprehend the nature of a Vulcan bond,” Spock spoke somewhat accusingly. “While it is true I would have greater control as the telepathic partner, it is more akin to marriage than domination.”

“Marriage! You were _proposing_ to me?”

Spock frowned at the tone.

“Given the evidence of your own behaviour, as well as the truth inside the other McCoy’s mind, I cannot believe you are as against a relationship with me as you proclaim.”

McCoy licked his suddenly dry lips, wondering how much he was willing to sacrifice for another go at the Vulcan. His pride? Certainly… particularly since it seemed Spock was offering more than another one night stand.

“A relationship? Sure,” he drawled slowly. “But marriage? That’s a hell of a leap.”

Spock contemplated him with a slight tilt to his head.

“It is not recognised by the Empire as a true marriage, however Vulcans consider it a similar commitment.”

“And what would happen to me if you one day decided you’ve had enough? If you broke the bond?” McCoy asked, subconsciously rubbing his scarred forearm.

“You would die,” Spock told him simply.

McCoy smiled wryly.

“See, that’s a whole lot of trust you’re asking for right there.”

Spock nodded in acceptance.

“Vulcans do not engage in casual sex as humans do. We bond with our chosen mate to endure the fires of Pon Farr.”

McCoy abruptly realised they were now merely negotiating terms. He smiled.

“Well humans don’t agree to marriage without testing out their partner first,” he answered. “And since you already _endured_ Pon Farr with me,” he drawled, “I’d say I had first dibs.”

“I must still ask for exclusivity,” Spock responded promptly.

“That won’t be a problem.” McCoy smirked. “Now… will you take me to bed?”

He worried for a second that the Vulcan would refuse – would insist on the traditional bond – but then Spock roughly shoved the desk aside and hauled McCoy up by his black undershirt.

“I will,” he told him plainly before capturing his lips in a forceful kiss.

McCoy couldn’t help but moan in relief before joining battle with Spock’s tongue. He held his head firmly so he could get his fill of that elusive taste.

Spock allowed McCoy to dominate his mouth but utilised his greater strength to pick the doctor up and carry him across to the man’s bed. Their lips broke apart as the doctor was dropped unceremoniously down but his complaint died in his throat as he saw Spock hurriedly pulling off his own clothes.

McCoy grinned devilishly and quickly shimmied out of the rest of his uniform, just having time to settle comfortably before the Vulcan clambered up over him. Then he ran his hands up Spock’s arms and held his shoulders even as he pressed his nose against the carotid artery in the Vulcan’s neck.

“Oh! That’s perfect.” McCoy shuddered slightly and his eyes fluttered shut. He opened his eyes to see Spock arching an eyebrow in curiosity at his remark.

McCoy flushed slightly. Spock must have wondered what was so perfect since he hadn’t actually _done_ anything yet. In a vague attempt to evade that questioning look, McCoy shifted slightly to grab his scalpel.

Spock sat back on his haunches and took the pro-offered item with a silent acknowledgment. He didn’t query verbally but merely rested the blade on the inside of the doctor’s thigh and awaited a response.

McCoy nodded eagerly and then let out another unintentional groan as he felt the knife slice the skin. This time it was Spock who ran his fingers into the liquid and McCoy just had to push himself up onto his elbows to watch avidly.

Spock handed the scalpel back and McCoy took it instinctively but he kept his attention focused on the Vulcan. His breath hitched as he saw the pointy eared devil lower his sticky fingers down to push into him.

As the first finger breached him he dropped back onto his back and heaved a shuddering breath. He had wanted this so badly.

Spock remained silent as he continued his preparations but McCoy wasn’t satisfied with that. He resolved to prompt some more responses from the stoic officer.

Once McCoy was relaxed enough to prop himself back up he gestured to the Vulcan with a wicked grin.

“You’re awful far away. Why don’t you get a little closer?”

He held the sharp blade up so it glinted in the low light. Spock glanced briefly at it but primarily remained focused on the doctor’s face as he manoeuvred so he was within reach. McCoy couldn’t help but gasp a little as the angle of Spock’s fingers twisted inside him but he eagerly reached to hold one of those broad shoulder blades.

He unthinkingly pressed a kiss to the corner of Spock’s mouth while he adjusted to their changed position but then switched his own focus onto the delightful chest.

The pectorals were coated with a remarkably even dusting of hair with a dark trail leading down to swirl around his flat belly before disappearing into the dense thicket at his groin. However his abdomen was comparatively smooth and, to McCoy’s mind, just begging for some decorative touches.

Spock couldn’t quite subdue his flinch as the doctor struck out quickly to cut a marker into his skin. McCoy’s blue eyes flicked up to catch the reaction and he pressed another kiss to the Vulcan’s lips in appreciation. Spock stared intently at him even as McCoy flashed the blade forward again.

This time the Vulcan allowed a flash more of a reaction to show and therefore McCoy allowed him a deeper kiss. However Spock wasn’t prepared to be too passive. As he thrust his tongue once again into McCoy’s unresisting mouth, he forced a third finger into his passage to stretch him further.

McCoy bit his tongue in retaliation but then licked it in apology, blue eyes watching closely for any and every reaction. Spock merely moved his hand with greater purpose.

The doctor pulled away from his mouth to examine his chest again. There were two beautifully parallel wounds trickling green blood down his ribs. He ran his hand against them, enjoying both the feel of blood across his palm and the accompanying shiver that ran through his lover.

Then he dropped that hand down to grasp the Vulcan’s erection firmly.

As Spock let out a genuinely surprised gasp, McCoy grinned and began sliding his hand around, coating the cock ready for himself.

That brought about a most gratifying reaction as Spock pulled his fingers free and used both hands to push McCoy flat to the mattress. McCoy just had time to grab onto those shoulder blades again before Spock pushed himself in.

The groan McCoy let out was quite heartfelt.

“Oh, yes!”

Spock sank slowly but insistently inside. McCoy had forgotten the deliberateness of the Vulcan’s attention. The slow unremitting pressure was glorious and he sank his nails deep to try and ground himself. Spock didn’t stop until he was fully inside.

McCoy opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed and stared into Spock’s dark orbs so close to his own. To his surprise, the Vulcan leant down and gently kissed him.

As McCoy surrendered his mouth he felt another wave of security flood him. _This_ was what he’d craved. This feeling of being completely at Spock’s mercy yet utterly safe and comfortable none-the-less. No substitutions or imaginings could replicate this feeling.

Spock broke their tender kiss as he began to thrust sensually, slowly out and then leisurely back in. He seemed in no hurry to end the encounter and McCoy was not inclined to rush him either. Instead he ran his hands across any bit of skin he could reach, spreading streaks of blood through patches of hair and then continuing up to caress those damnable ears.

Sensitive ears if the resultant hard jerk of his hips was any indication. McCoy smiled mischievously and pulled himself close enough to lick along the edge of the lobe. Spock gripped McCoy’s hips firmly to maintain control of their coupling but angled his head to better let the doctor explore his ear.

McCoy smiled to himself as he licked and nipped his way right up to the tip where he licked gently for a few seconds before biting hard enough to draw blood. Spock wrenched his head away, growled and then began slamming into McCoy forcefully.

The doctor flung back his head in ecstasy as the normally composed Vulcan gave in yet again to his lust. He relished the feel of that warm, supple organ stroking him insistently – pushing him closer and closer to his own release – before he felt himself flooded with the Vulcan’s cum.

Almost immediately the softening penis withdrew out of him and McCoy instantly feared the Vulcan would leave again. However Spock merely shifted down the bed and laid himself so the doctor’s own erection was pressed right up against the twin cuts on his front.

McCoy carded a hand into his hair in a gesture full of fondness and relief. Spock looked up at him intensely as he rubbed himself provocatively until McCoy gasped and came.

The doctor instinctively held onto Spock while he regained his breath, unwilling to part from the Vulcan so swiftly this time, but all too soon he was pulling away from the human’s grip.

McCoy opened his eyes to see him still sitting on the bed, watching him in curiosity.

“You can use my shower… if you want,” he suggested.

“That would be appreciated,” Spock responded quietly but he still didn’t move.

“Yer welcome to stay…” McCoy offered.

Strangely, Spock laid a hand on his ankle before replying.

“Not tonight I think.”

McCoy nodded and watched as Spock made his way through to the shower. Then he lay back with a contented grin.

Not tonight suggested there’d be other nights. And right now that was all McCoy wanted.


	8. Chapter Eight

It was quite possibly the most satisfying relationship Leonard had ever enjoyed. Although he’d be hard put to define it as a relationship.

During their working shifts, or even their encounters off shift amongst the crew, nothing had changed. Without exchanging a word, they both recognised that what they did together in quarters had no bearing on their interactions outside of it.

However behind closed doors…

Every night so far they’d met, either in Spock’s room or his and the Vulcan had claimed the human anew. And while he would rail and rant at the Vulcan in public about the superiority of humanity, once in bed together all McCoy wanted was to be taken. _Possessed_.

Initially he’d worried that the Vulcan’s interest would wane after a couple of encounters but then he’d realised that Spock was introducing slight variations.

McCoy had always known Spock was inherently curious but he’d never appreciated that so much before. Now that curiosity was focused on him and it was addictive. Spock seemingly wanted to catalogue every possible reaction McCoy made to any and all stimulus. And, when McCoy idly calculated a few combinations, he concluded there were probably enough to keep Spock interested a good few years at least. Different positions, sex toys, bondage…

So far the Vulcan had experimented with the sensitivity of McCoy’s hands and feet as well as utilised a variety of stimulus on his penis. And this was still within the confines of the bed. McCoy’s own mind had several suggestions on possible variations of location if the Vulcan ever asked.

He was beginning to fantasize regularly now about what it might be like to be taken against a wall. He wasn’t particularly fussy about which wall although his thoughts often centered around his sickbay office.

He was enjoying such a daydream when Kirk arrived to collect him.

“Bones! You’re supposed to be meeting and greeting. Let’s get going.”

“How many more of these damn ambassadors do we have to kowtow to?” he grumbled as he followed the captain out, miffed at having to interrupt a most pleasant fantasy.

“This is the last of them. The Vulcan contingent.”

McCoy noticed Spock waiting beside the turbolift.

“What’s the Vulcan ambassador like?” he asked idly as they all stepped inside. “Some puppet of the Empire I suppose?”

“In fact the Vulcan ambassador is autonomous,” Spock responded. “He is married to an influence human lady who has enough political influence to allow her husband some freedom of choice.”

McCoy grinned wickedly.

“See? Needs a human still to have any sort of power.”

Spock glanced at him with a raised brow and McCoy felt himself flush. He suddenly remembered his imaginings about being stuck in a turbolift with Spock.

He pulled at his collar and muttered.

“Feels like my neck’s in a sling.”

“Best behaviour,” Kirk warned as he led them out and along the corridor. “Or you’ll find your neck’s really in a sling.”

He strode ahead of them leaving them behind once they reached the shuttle bay. McCoy stood uncomfortably alongside Spock.

“How does that Vulcan salute go?” he asked, primarily to distract himself. Spock turned and held up a hand with fingers neatly split. McCoy briefly tried to copy before giving it up.

“That hurts worse than the uniform,” he complained quietly before Kirk returned to them.

The Captain was accompanied by an elegant human woman leading a silent Vulcan.

“Lady Amanda.” Kirk was smiling his most charming smile. “Feel free to make use of any of my officers during your stay. For _any_ purpose.”

The woman laughed delightedly.

“There’ll be no need. I did not choose my husband for his position. Vulcans make devoutly satisfying lovers.”

McCoy shifted uncomfortably and, as Kirk sent a reproving look his way, muttered, “Damn dress uniforms.”

“This is my Chief Medical Officer,” the Captain introduced, “Doctor Leonard McCoy.”

Amanda eyed him speculatively.

“I have heard you described as the finest surgeon in the fleet,” she commented, much to McCoy’s surprise. “Sarek and I may have need of you later.” She said nothing further but turned to look at Spock who was standing rigidly next to him.

“And my First Officer, Mister Spock.” Kirk gestured. “If you’re interested in Vulcans, rest assured he can be put completely at your disposal.”

Spock arched a brow at that comment even as McCoy frowned unhappily. Lady Amanda laughed again.

“I’m not sure that I’d be entirely comfortable with such an arrangement with my son.”

“Your son?” McCoy couldn’t stop his mouth and he turned his surprised gaze onto the First Officer.

“Mister Spock,” Kirk interrupted. “You never informed me the ambassadorial couple were your parents.” His tone conveyed his annoyance even as his gaze was clearly recalculating Spock’s value.

“It was not relevant,” Spock answered calmly. He met the Vulcan ambassador’s eyes briefly but neither spoke.

Kirk surveyed the reunion with deliberate interest before turning his charm once again upon their guest.

“Allow me to give you a tour of the ship,” he offered leading the pair away.

Spock remained still and McCoy hesitated beside him.

“Spock?”

“There is nothing further to be said doctor,” he replied shortly before walking away towards the bridge. McCoy scowled after him before turning and making his own way back to sickbay.

What difference would it make having Spock’s parents on board anyway?

As it turned out, quite a lot.

McCoy had avoided all the diplomatic events with the captain’s blessing. While Kirk could switch easily between inveterate charmer and vengeful madman, McCoy could never entirely lose his bite.

And it wasn’t like he wanted to mingle with Spock’s parents. Or that Spock would particularly want him to interact with them. After all, they weren’t in a _proper_ relationship. He could hardly be introduced as Spock’s fuck buddy to mom and dad and the Vulcan never did like to lie.

McCoy almost wanted to turn up and see how Spock would introduce him if pushed but decided it wasn’t worth risking what they did have over.

So he was quite surprised when the Vulcan in question arrived in sickbay with his parents in tow. For one brief second McCoy thought Spock really wanted to introduce him properly.

Then Lady Amanda spoke.

“My husband is ill Doctor. I fear he may die.”

McCoy squashed down his treacherous thoughts and promptly switched into doctor-mode. He quickly got the ambassador – Spock’s _father_ – up on a biobed and surveyed the readings.

“What’s the symptoms?” he enquired.

To his slight surprise, it was Sarek who replied.

“I have had three attacks similar to what a human would call a heart attack.”

“Fool didn’t tell me about the first attack,” Amanda frowned. “Insisted the second was nothing to concern myself with-”

“There was nothing you could have done,” her husband insisted.

“I could have brought you here sooner,” she snapped at him before turning her gaze on McCoy. “My son has told me you are skilled in treating aliens. My husband had another attack this evening and I fear it is worsening.”

McCoy noted her comment about Spock and stored that nugget away for later, instead focusing on the primary concern.

“It’s a malfunction in a heart valve. I’d need to open him up to assess it properly.”

“And you can do that?”

McCoy hesitated.

“Vulcan hearts are laid out different to humans. An ordinary operation wouldn’t be viable.”

“I would suggest a cryogenic open-heart procedure,” Sarek suggested but McCoy was already shaking his head.

“It is the only logical approach,” Spock told him.

“I ain’t denying that but do you have any idea the amount of blood we’d need? I can tell you right now there isn’t enough on board to do it.”

“Spock.” Amanda turned to her son. “Can’t you donate for your father? You share his T-negative blood type don’t you?”

McCoy answered before Spock had a chance.

“His blood isn’t pure Vulcan. There’s human elements too. Besides which, the quantities we’re talking… it’d kill him.”

“So I must choose?” Amanda frowned. “My husband or my son?”

“That will not be necessary,” Spock informed her.

“What in hell’s name do you think you’re doing?” the doctor demanded. “I am not about to let you kill yourself in the name of filial duty.”

“It would not be a logical trade,” Sarek put in.

“I assure you that was not my intention,” Spock said before focusing on the doctor once more. “You have surely read of the experiments being conducted on Rigelians?”

“The stimulant for speeding up and replacing blood production? _Course_ I read about it.” He actually rolled his eyes before twigging what Spock was suggesting. “But we can’t use that on your father. The strain would kill him.”

“I was not thinking of my father.”

“You’re going to use it on yourself,” Amanda realised. “A transfusion from you to your father.” Her eyes lit up with hope.

Doctor McCoy stared hard at him before taking him firmly by the arm and dragging him towards his office.

“Excuse us Lady Amanda, Sarek. I just got to make sure Spock knows what he’s suggesting.”

As soon as his door shut behind them McCoy whirled on him.

“Do yer have any idea what you’re askin’ of me?” he demanded roughly. He swallowed hard. “A blood transfusion? All your blood… just pulsing through my hands…”

Spock took a step closer and looked McCoy straight in the eye.

“I am asking you to save my father’s life,” he told him. “I do not believe you would let me die in the procedure.”

McCoy shook his head nervously.

“I don’t have your faith in me Spock. I know what I’m like with transfusions. It’s a bad enough temptation normally. With _your_ blood…” he trailed off.

Spock laid both hands on his shoulders.

“You are an intelligent man. You know better than to let the source of that blood perish. Plus, I believe you enjoy some of the other benefits I offer.” He tilted his head almost in enquiry.

McCoy looked at him and allowed himself a moment to feel the weight of those hands on him, to remember the strength of the body before him, and he nodded silently.

“You will not let me bleed out,” Spock replied confidently, stepping back again to a professional distance.

McCoy took a breath before turning and heading back out into the main wing. Amanda looked over anxiously.

“Its agreed,” McCoy told her. “I’ll prep both patients.”

He left the family to themselves while he went and organised arrangements with Chapel. She was clearly surprised by the procedure being suggested but offered no other comment on it.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, he was relieved she’d be standing with him. She was far too sensible to allow him to give in to any temptation.

They’d just hooked everything up and injected Spock with the drug when Kirk staggered in clutching a bleeding wound. McCoy stared at it and felt his mouth go dry. Then he looked down at Spock, lying anesthetised and helpless on the biobed alongside his father.

“Chapel? Go deal with the captain.”

“Doctor?” she hesitated. “Won’t you need my assistance here?”

He raised his eyes to glare at her.

“I’ll be fine. Now deal with the captain before he bleeds out on us. I’d hate him to do that while I’m otherwise occupied.” He switched his gaze back to where green blood was beginning to flow along tubes connecting Spock and his father.

Chapel went, unnoticed, and McCoy felt himself becoming almost mesmerised by the translucent pulse of liquid along plastic veins.

He grit his teeth and forced his gaze away, eyes falling instead on the First Officer, lying deceptively peacefully. McCoy wondered abruptly what it’d be like to wake up and see such a face lying so relaxed in his company.

With renewed determination he turned back to Sarek and turned on the sterilisation field. While his professional mind focused on the procedure he was carrying out, he let that idle part of his mind wander.

Amanda seemed very happy with her choice of husband. She felt no shame in acknowledging her relationship. They must also be bonded yet she showed no ill effect from that either.

As McCoy’s hands worked steadily, his mind built his own little fantasy to distract him from the temptation around him. Still, by the time he was finished and cleaning up he was almost shaking with the effort of maintaining his professionalism.

And not just from his haematolgnia.

Stepping back into the ward after downing a shot of whiskey to ease his nerves he found both Jim and Spock awake.

Christine had apparently had no trouble patching the man up. She’d probably make a fine doctor some day.

Jim rolled over on his biobed so he could send a charming grin across to his First Officer. His glassy eyes indicated he was still under the effects of whatever drug Chapel had shot him with.

“If ever you want to satisfy any urges Mister Spock, know that my door is always open.”

McCoy said nothing. He simply stalked over and stabbed a sedative into Kirk’s neck. As the man collapsed back unconscious McCoy turned and approached Spock, equally silently.

Spock tensed in case he too was about to be anaesthetised but the doctor merely pointed a finger at him warningly.

“Exclusivity, yeah?”

“Indeed,” Spock agreed.

To the Vulcan’s surprise McCoy then stepped up close and simply rested his forehead on Spock’s shoulder. The tension in the doctor’s frame was obvious. It took Spock a few seconds before he deduced the correct action and rested one arm about the man’s shoulders. McCoy immediately relaxed taking a deep breath in.

“You ain’t allowed to die on me ya hear?” he demanded.

“I will endeavour not to,” Spock assured.


	9. Chapter Nine

“Just sit there an’ enjoy it,” McCoy growled before adding more softly. “I just want to taste you.”

He sank to his knees and insinuated himself between Spock’s legs under his desk, taking a second to simply savour the moment.

Although he’d never done this before he’d certainly been thinking about it. Oh he’d been thinking about it a _lot_. Ever since he’d first given in to the temptation and licked a swath up Spock’s shoulder. The taste was like nothing else he’d ever experienced and could only be described as _Spock_.

Naturally he’d sought more of it, delving into his mouth when that was possible and savouring any other available patch of skin when it wasn’t. And how could he not then envisage tasting him _there_?

Deft hands made short work of the layers of cloth between him and his prize. The gold sash was draped over the chair arms and McCoy briefly thought about wrapping it about Spock’s wrists but quickly put that idea aside for another time. They were unlikely to be interrupted here since he’d made it plenty clear to his staff no-one was to come in but there was always the chance of an emergency.

It would hardly do for Spock to be found tied to his chair. Any explanation he might offer in such a circumstance would likely mean death to one or both of them.

So likewise he merely opened the pants in front of him far enough to allow him to draw out the darkening cock.

He took the time to stroke it gently, marvelling at the knowledge that this had been inside him so intimately. Although he would have considered himself well acquainted with the organ in question, he realised now that he’d never actually studied it.

It seemed bigger this close to than he’d have expected. As it swelled up beneath his ministrations he wondered how he’d ever taken this without any injury. He twisted his head to examine the curve. He knew from a technical point of view that it was this adaptation that allowed Spock to press against his prostate so persistently yet again, he’d never had the chance to see it.

His pupils dilated as he watched it fill with blood. He could feel the pulsing vein under his fingers as it pumped more blood out to engorge the head. For a moment he rested his head on Spock’s thigh and simply held it, swallowing in anticipation.

Then he shifted again so he could experimentally draw his tongue across the tip.

Under his free hand he felt Spock’s leg tense even as he pulled back to lick his lips and consider the new taste. He’d expected a saltiness but that wasn’t quite right. He frowned in thought and then saw the Vulcan watching him intently. He smiled.

“Just trying to place the taste darlin’,” he murmured.

Spock nodded and gently placed a hand to McCoy’s head.

“Perhaps further exposure would help?” he suggested.

McCoy laughed quietly and ducked his head back down. He inhaled deeply, letting the more familiar scent of Spock’s skin fill his nose, before sliding his lips around the eager cock in front of him.

He couldn’t help but moan as the heady taste combined with the intoxicating scent to envelop his senses. Somewhat to his surprise, Spock left his hand in his hair but made no effort to control him. He allowed McCoy to set his own pace and depth.

McCoy went slowly, enjoying taking his time partly due to the pleasure he found in the activity but also to repay Spock for the previous night where the Vulcan had tormented him slowly despite consistent pleading on his part.

The fact that it had provoked a most intense orgasm at the conclusion only further encouraged the doctor to draw this out.

Although McCoy had spent some considerable time imagining this very scenario, his inexperience in this area meant he had not been able to imagine all the sensory input he was now receiving.

Asides from the powerful taste, there was the heavy weight of Spock resting in his mouth. And the heat that only intensified the scent permeating everything about him. Not to mention that arousing pulse beating a rhythm against his tongue.

He groaned and sucked harder, regretting that he couldn’t seem to fit any more in. His own cock was pressing insistently against his pants but he resisted touching it, knowing that would too soon tip him over the edge.

Spock’s hand suddenly tugged, gently but insistently, guiding McCoy to kneel higher so his head was closer to the Vulcan’s stomach. McCoy went and found that the changed angle allowed more of Spock to slip inside.

Both men groaned simultaneously and slow and steady was immediately forgotten.

McCoy dove his head down with enthusiasm and forced almost all the Vulcan into his throat. He gagged slightly but didn’t care. He wanted to bring Spock off. He wanted to taste everything the Vulcan had to offer. He wanted to hear that soft grunting noise Spock made when he reached his tipping point.

The hand on his head tightened impulsively and McCoy heard Spock’s imminent release before his mouth was suddenly flooded with semen. He gulped instinctively but couldn’t swallow it all and felt it run out and down his chin.

The liquid dripping down his face drove his thoughts to other liquids and he felt his own orgasm rush through him.

It was several long seconds before he found his focus again. He looked up to see Spock looking down at him with those inscrutable dark eyes. McCoy surged forward and kissed him, not caring that he probably still tasted of Vulcan cum.

He pulled back again and settled uncomfortably on his haunches.

“Do you require me to touch you?” Spock asked, deceptively calmly for someone still sat with his drying cock out.

McCoy grinned crookedly and forced himself to his feet, having to lean back against his desk to support his unsteady legs. He noted Spock’s eye flicker to his crotch even as he replied.

“No need.”

Spock’s eyes remained fixed.

“So I see.” Then the Vulcan briskly tucked himself away and retied his sash before standing, looking perfectly prim and proper again. He titled his head slightly as he stared at McCoy and then reached out a hand to wipe across the human’s chin. 

Clearing his own release McCoy realised.

He turned his head to catch those elegant fingers in his lips and lick them clean. Despite their recent exertion he felt a stirring again and quickly let the digits go. Spock was still watching him.

“Umami,” McCoy suddenly said.

“I beg your pardon?” Spock arched an eyebrow at him.

McCoy laughed delightedly and dropped himself into the vacated chair.

“That’s what you taste like,” he explained. “Umami.”

Spock was apparently about to say something further when the door swished open.

McCoy scowled but caught his irritated snarl when he realised who it was.

“Captain,” Spock greeted him smoothly.

Kirk glanced between the two officers.

“Something happening I should know about?” he asked.

“Medical stuff,” McCoy waved a hand dismissively.

“We were discussing the presence of carboxylate anion in my system,” Spock offered.

“Is that dangerous?”

“No,” McCoy insisted with a slight shake of his head. “Might need more careful monitoring is all.”

“Right.” Kirk glanced again between them before seemingly changing subjects. “We just received orders to head out to sector three nine J. Starbase six lost contact with the _Intrepid_ who was investigating the Gamma Seven-A solar system. Long range scans indicate everything there is dead.”

“Dead?” McCoy leant forward. “There are billions of inhabitants there! What do you mean dead?”

“I’d have thought a medical man like yourself would recognise the term Bones,” Kirk snapped. “Dead. Deceased. Devoid of life. How else would you like me to put it?”

McCoy leant back with a sullen expression. Spock stepped forward to join the captain.

“Anything that can produce such an effect is undoubtedly a threat to the Empire. We should investigate swiftly.”

“Just my point Mister Spock.” Kirk turned and led his first officer out of McCoy’s office. Spock glanced once more at the doctor but said nothing else as he left for the bridge.

McCoy drooped back into his seat and exhaled. That had been a mite too close.

Kirk had taken to arriving unexpectedly of late. When he could just as easily use the comm he would instead appear suddenly, obviously trying to catch them in the act of something.

McCoy wasn’t sure just yet what it was the captain suspected them of. It seemed unlikely to be mutiny since in that case he’d punish them first and check the facts later. But the doctor doubted how Kirk could possibly know about their sexual activities. They were both careful not to show any special favouritism in public.

Putting that concern from his mind he allowed his mind to recall his earlier undertakings and smiled. That was certainly a pastime he wouldn’t mind repeating.

And it had the advantage that it left no incriminating evidence.

He glanced down at his own stained groin and frowned. Well, it would leave no evidence if he could have controlled himself until Spock was able to lend him a hand.

Standing he went to retrieve some spare uniform trousers. One benefit of working in sickbay – spare clothes were always on hand due to the very high prospect of blood stains.

Speaking of which… he smirked and stepped out into the ward to see who might require treatment.

It was some time later when there was a sudden wailing noise and the ground seemed to sway beneath him. He shook his head clear and glanced around.

Christine was gripping the edge of a biobed and looking confused but nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. Immediately though, the comm system burst into life with medical requests. They both moved to start correlating what in hell was going on.

Reports from all decks stated that various personnel had fainted.

McCoy cut off the latest call and put through his own demand to the bridge.

“Sickbay to Captain Kirk. McCoy here.”

“ _Kirk here. What is it?_ ”

“I'm getting reports from every deck. Half the people on this ship just fainted.”

There was a pause before Kirk responded to him.

“ _Deal with it! We’ve got our own problems. Just make sure key personnel are functioning._ ”

“Deal with it,” McCoy muttered to himself as the connection broke. “Be nice to know just what we’re dealing with.”

“Doctor?” Chapel asked.

McCoy sighed.

“Better prepare a load of stimulants Christine. We gotta go round make sure those that need to be are still awake.” He grabbed his hypo and a handful of ampules. “I’ll head up to the bridge myself. See if I can’t find some answers.”

When the turbolifts opened McCoy was momentarily surprised by the completely black viewscreen. However he immediately shook that off and began his silent trek round, injecting stimulants into the crew as they busily continued what they were doing.

“Spock,” Kirk growled. “Have you analysed that burst of noise yet? What’s draining our power?”

“That sound was turbulence caused by the penetration of a boundary layer, Captain.”

“What boundary layer?” Kirk demanded.

“Unknown,” the Vulcan responded quietly.

McCoy glanced over to him from where he’d just injected the captain and made a move to join the science officer.

“Boundary layer between what and what?” Kirk asked with more than a hint of frustration.

“Between where we were and where we are.” Spock’s attention switched to the doctor and he gave a slight shake of the head to refuse the pro-offered stimulant. McCoy was about to vocally insist but the captain wasn’t done. 

“Are you trying to be funny, Mister Spock?”

McCoy glanced back and recognised the dangerous look on Kirk’s face.

“Spock wouldn’t know how,” he snapped to the captain.

That seemed to startle the man and Spock was swift to capitalise.

“We still have no specifics, but we seem to have entered a zone of energy which is incompatible with our living and mechanical processes. As we draw closer to the source, it grows stronger and we grow weaker.”

“We’re dying?” McCoy queried.

“Ultimately,” Spock agreed.

McCoy resisted the impulse to touch the Vulcan and instead crossed his arms.

“Doctor,” Kirk spoke with more enthusiasm now. “I believe that makes this a medical matter. I suggest you look into it.”

McCoy opened his mouth to object before thinking better of it. The captain was just trying to push his buttons. So he simply gave a brisk nod and headed away back towards the turbolift. He was a pace away when Spock spoke again.

“I shall ensure you receive as much data as we can gather.”

McCoy glanced back and once again found himself subject to that inscrutable gaze. He swallowed, nodded and hurried off the bridge.


	10. Chapter Ten

“That is an amoeba,” McCoy stated with some satisfaction.

“Yes, I remember my basic biology, Doctor.” Kirk had naturally accompanied Spock down to the lab and had only grown more irritable in the hours since this thing had appeared to threaten his ship.

“It's a very simple form of life,” McCoy continued his explanation undeterred. “In fact it's a much simpler form of life than what you're looking at here. But that thing can apparently perform all the functions that qualify it as a living organism. It can reproduce, it can breathe, it can eat, although I don't know what.”

“Energy itself, perhaps,” Spock suggested. “Drained from us. I would speculate that this unknown life form is invading our galaxy like a virus.”

“The _Intrepid_ died of that particular virus. We need to know how to kill it. Suggestions?”

“Perhaps we could risk a shuttlecraft?” McCoy commented thoughtfully. “Maybe with a protective shield it could get close enough to kick it where it hurts. Or give us the information to.”

Kirk looked at him with a calculating gaze.

“And what would be the odds of that shuttlecraft coming back?”

McCoy fell silent but Spock naturally felt compelled to answer his captain.

“It would most likely be a suicide mission.”

A slow grin spread across the captain’s face.

“You’ve done the preliminary work Bones. I’d say that makes you a volunteer.”

McCoy stiffened but didn’t reply to that. Any response he could think of would only encourage the man but perhaps if he kept quiet Kirk would lose interest in his game.

“I am better suited emotionally and physically to this task. I submit I should go.”

Both humans stared at the placid Vulcan but it was McCoy who found his voice soonest.

“Now see here, I have the medical-biological knowledge necessary. I am not about to let you… steal the greatest living laboratory from me.” He had to swallow back what he wanted to say as he remembered the captain was still with them.

“I am more capable,” Spock responded stiffly.

“You have a martyr complex,” McCoy snapped. “I submit that it disqualifies you.”

“Gentlemen,” Kirk interrupted with great amusement. “I am not taking volunteers.”

He surveyed each of them critically and McCoy wondered what response he was hoping for. He certainly didn’t want to go. He had no death wish.

However he didn’t want Spock to go either. Not with them having got so comfortable with each other. 

“Mister Spock. You're best qualified to go,” Kirk finally announced. “Doctor McCoy will tell you what special equipment to put in. I want you on your way in ten minutes. I’ll have Scotty get the shuttle ready.”

And with that, Kirk left. The two officers remained in an uneasy silence until Spock spoke gently.

“Do not suffer so, Doctor. This is not the first time superior capability has proven more valuable than professional credentials.”

“Goddammit!” McCoy finally burst. “I ain’t stuck over professional pride!”

He glared at the Vulcan, knowing now that he had to lose him. Just like everybody else in his damned life. He turned away so Spock wouldn’t see the wetness that threatened his eyes.

“The DNA code analyser will give you the fundamental structure of the thing. You'll need readings on three light wavelengths from the enzyme recorder.”

“I am familiar with the equipment, Doctor.”

A hand landed on McCoy’s shoulder and rested there. The doctor didn’t turn but his voice was softer when he spoke again.

“Why’d you have to go an’ volunteer?”

“It was the only logical way to save the ship. And thereby you.”

McCoy wanted to turn. He wanted to hold the Vulcan tightly and not let him leave.

He wanted to tell the Vulcan that he loved him.

He did none of those things.

“Will you wish me luck?”

McCoy swallowed hard but couldn’t find the will to speak. The hand slid from his shoulder and he heard the soft footfalls that indicated the Vulcan leaving.

“Good luck, Spock.”

He had no idea if the other man heard him or not.

For a long while he simply stood staring at the amoeba on the screen in front of him and calculating how far away Spock was now.

A jolt to the ship brought him back to himself and he hurried out of the lab, almost running to the turbolift for the bridge. He may never see the Vulcan again but he could at least hear him one last time.

McCoy stepped onto the bridge to hear Spock's voice being piped through.

“There was nothing to spare. I shall continue my tests. Oh, and Doctor McCoy. You would have not survived it.”

McCoy stopped short and gripped the guide rail with white knuckled hands.

“You want to bet?” he muttered.

He continued to listen as Spock detailed the chromosome structure, his voice maintaining that absolute calm that typified the Vulcan. McCoy knew he’d be yelling about the threat from the inevitable reproduction of the creature.

Then contact with Spock was lost.

McCoy swung on Uhura.

“Get him back blast you!”

She just blinked those liquid eyes at him and turned to her console. McCoy was about to shout some more when the ship lurched again.

“He's alive!” Chekov announced. “He's kicked it in the side to let us know.”

McCoy once again gripped the railing but this time more for support. What the hell was he doing? He _knew_ this was a suicide mission so why was he grimly hoping that someone would announce Spock was returning? Spock would _never_ return.

“Captain, I'm receiving a message from Mister Spock,” Uhura’s voice snapped McCoy back out of his emotional spiral. “It's faint, but it is readable.”

“Put it on, Lieutenant,” Kirk ordered.

“On audio, sir.”

“This is Spock. I am slowly losing life support and minimal shield energies. According to my calculations the nervous energy of the organism is maximal just within its outer protective membrane. Relatively insensitive to interior irritation. I believe sufficient charge could destroy the organism.” There was a pause and everyone strained to hear what else Spock would tell them about destroying the creature.

“Tell Doctor McCoy he should have wished me luck.”

All eyes switched to the doctor. McCoy stood silently staring and then simply turned and walked away. He didn’t care where he was heading and instructed the lift for sickbay more out of habit than anything.

His demeanor upon entering must have been frightening indeed because several of his nurses who moved to speak to him wisely changed their mind.

It wasn’t until he was locked in his office that he truly gave vent.

With a cry of rage he swept everything from his desk, grabbing anything he missed to hurl against the walls. It barely scratched the surface of his frustrated anger though and he stared around for anything else to relieve his stress. His eyes fell on the desk drawer where he kept his special implements.

Methodically he opened it and selected his favourite scalpel. Sitting down carefully he rolled back his sleeve and pressed the blade down. His eyes drifted shut as all his focus suddenly went to the stinging pain. The world contracted to this single point.

He dragged the blade along, relishing the rush of endorphins flooding his system. His next breath came out shuddering but he was able to breathe deeper now. Calmer.

He sat quietly, not bothering to do anything about his arm. In some scientific part of his mind he recognized he’d followed the line of his old scar. Probably a subconscious recognition of the similar type of loss he was feeling. The blood had stopped flowing and was falling off in dried flakes when he felt yet another lurch of the ship beneath him.

That must mean they’d entered the nucleus too. He smiled bitterly. Nearer to Spock.

Slowly he rose from his chair and stepped back out.

Chapel glanced at him and her eyes flickered down to his exposed arm with a frown. He smiled almost warmly at her as he fixed his sleeve and then sauntered on over.

“I’ll take some more stimulants up to the bridge,” he offered cheerfully.

Her surprise at his tone was evident but she said nothing, merely handing him the required ampules.

He wandered casually along the corridor and made his way back up to the bridge. It seemed almost funny to him now, all this concern over the amoeba. They were all going to die whatever they did so why were they bothering? The damn thing ate power after all.

And at least this way he’d soon be back with his favourite Vulcan.

He stepped onto the bridge and without a word went and injected the captain with yet another stimulant.

Kirk glanced at him but offered no further comment.

“Target co-ordinates programmed, sir. Probe ready for launch,” Chekov reported.

“Mister Scott,” Kirk swung towards engineering. “How much time do we have left at one hundred percent impulse power?”

“Six, maybe seven minutes, sir,” the engineer replied. 

“Mister Kyle, programme fuse for seven minute delay. All non-essential systems on standby. Communications, scanning, conserve every bit of power. We must make it through the membrane before that thing explodes. Make it work, Scotty.”

McCoy bounced on his heels as he listened vaguely to everyone busy about their jobs and reflected that they really were a good crew.

“Captain, metallic substance outside the ship.” Chekov’s voice brought McCoy back to reality.

“Spock?” the doctor demanded. Kirk glanced at him again before looking back towards Scotty.

“Do we have time to lock a tractor beam?”

“We only have a fifty three second escape margin,” Scotty hedged, clearly not wanting to say yea or nay. Kirk turned back to McCoy with a grin.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said companionably. “I’ll agree to rescue Spock if _you_ admit you’re the Vulcan’s bitch.”

McCoy stared at him, horrified. He was aware of Sulu smirking in his position at the helm, the expression twisting his scar unattractively, and Scotty’s eyes widening in surprise before he swiftly turned back to his controls.

“Well?” Kirk asked, deceptively pleasantly. “Time’s ticking.”

McCoy glanced away, out the view screen. Spock was dying right now. Giving his life to save the crew because the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.

No more sex with the Vulcan. No more of that rich addictive taste. No more buzz from green blood. No more seeing that dark eyed look that just screamed…

Now was a really shitty time to realise what Spock was expressing with that penetrating stare.

Damn that, thought McCoy. He wasn’t done with the Vulcan yet. Not by a long shot. And, if as seemed apparent, Kirk already knew about them…

“Alright,” he growled. “I’ll say it. I’m the Vulcan’s bitch. There. Does that make you goddamn happy?”

He glared at his grinning captain.

“Exuberant,” Kirk confirmed before turning away towards the engineering station. “Scotty. Tractor beams. Bring that shuttle back aboard.”

McCoy didn’t wait to be told but headed straight up towards the turbolift. The last thing he heard before the doors shut was Kirk’s smug voice.

“Be a shame to lose such a valuable vehicle.”

McCoy was knocked sideways when the ship was rocked by the explosion as the lift took him down towards the hanger deck but he was moving even before the doors opened, racing towards the shuttle bay.

He swore as he got there and realised he’d beaten the tractor beams. They were still manoeuvring the vehicle inside. He waited impatiently as huge doors were opened, the small craft was oh-so-slowly guided in, the huge doors drifted shut, and then the interminable wait as the area was repressurised.

Finally the light went green and he could race into the bay, straight across to the shuttle.

He got there to find it still shut and he pounded angrily on the hatch.

“Goddammit Spock!”

His fist suddenly dropped through the now open doorway and was caught in a familiar vice like grip. He looked up to see that dark gaze staring inquisitively at him.

McCoy didn’t hesitate. He launched himself forward into the Vulcan’s arms and allowed himself to be swung inside the small craft.

The debriefing could wait.


	11. Chapter Eleven

It was an age old truth that the only thing faster than light was gossip.

News of McCoy’s apparent subjugation spread within days throughout the crew. Overnight he was being referred to as Spock’s pet and a whole host of the crew had taken up the Captain’s nickname for him – Bones – with all the derogatory connotations possible.

McCoy didn’t discuss any of this with Spock. There was no need. Not only was the Vulcan aware already of the changing opinions concerning the doctor, he was also aware that it wasn’t his responsibility to act on it. Although McCoy did detect a new undercurrent of simmering anger that the Vulcan revealed with flashing eyes and heightened tenderness.

Fortuitously the standard physical examinations of the entire crew were due and McCoy knew exactly how to remind those with the loosest mouths not to underestimate him. He’d taken extra special care for these examinations, checking the records for those who were being most vocal about his apparent subservient status. It was amazing how easy it was to extrapolate phobias from medical records.

So as the last of the examinations was completed and recorded, the entire crew were once again nervy of crossing his path. In truth some of them had been getting too comfortable about his blood fetish. It paid to have a new string to his bow in order to keep them frightened.

He should have been happy. He had reminded the crew that he wasn’t soft, the captain was broadly supportive of him still, and he had a most satisfying lover.

The PADD screen glared at him even as Nurse Chapel stared across at him.

“You’ll have to give the captain a full report,” she told him.

He didn’t raise his eyes.

“He’ll have it along with all the others.”

“You know as well as I do the captain doesn’t bother reading those. He expects you to tell him if there’s anything serious.”

That brought his gaze up.

“I’ll tell him when I’m good and ready. It’ll be reported officially. If I hear you’ve breathed a word of this to anyone I swear to God I’ll incinerate every body in the morgue.”

Chapel’s lips set firm and she straightened.

“Of course Doctor.”

With that she spun on her heel and left him.

His eyes fell back to his own medical report.

“ _Xenopolycythemia – incurable_.”

Telling the captain would clearly be a mistake. Kirk would immediately write him off as expendable. Telling Spock however…

McCoy grimaced.

What logical reason would Spock have to continue their relationship when it was so obviously not going to last? He’d just drop McCoy and seek another mate. Though McCoy was loath to admit it, that would kill him just as sure as the disease.

Far better to conceal the prognosis as long as possible, enjoy as much time with Spock as he could, and try to arrange the parting on his own terms.

He was spared from sinking into a pit of depression by a summons to the transporter room. When he got there the captain and Spock were waiting.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Standard loot and pillage,” Kirk responded easily. “We found a lifeless asteroid type ship that we’ll have to blow up before it hits something important. Best salvage what we can first.” He grinned.

McCoy nodded and joined them on the platform. He didn’t query why Kirk wanted him and Spock along. Since confirming their relationship, the captain had made no bones about teaming them up. It helped him to know that they’d each instinctively defend their group rather than save themselves.

That was a reaction he could work to his advantage by sticking close to one or other of them.

McCoy was surprised when they materialised to find they didn’t appear to be on a ship at all.

“You'd swear you were on the surface of a planet,” he commented with a frown.

“One fails to see the logic in making a ship look like a planet,” Spock added, scanning their surroundings briefly.

“No intelligent lifeforms Mister Spock?” the doctor queried as he wandered over to examine some large rock-like structures.

“The asteroid ship is over ten thousand years old, Doctor. Still no sign of life forms, Captain.”

Before Kirk could respond however, the large structures McCoy was looking at opened and humanoid figures stepped out. One of the men immediately knocked McCoy unconscious and Spock leapt instinctively towards him.

As he too was over-powered, Kirk noticed a female watching calmly and suddenly changed his plan. He smiled charmingly.

“We come in peace,” he offered.

“I am Natira, the high priestess of the people,” she informed him haughtily. “Welcome to the world of Yonada.”

The words were formal rather than friendly.

“I can't say I think much of your welcome.” Kirk kept smiling but his eyes flashed dangerously.

If Natira was concerned she did not show it, simply instructing, “Take them.”

As she led the way, one man escorted Kirk while the other shoved Spock who was supporting a rather groggy McCoy.

They were led deeper into the asteroid-ship and into a secure room where the men forced them to kneel.

Natira faced a large symbol strewn statue.

“Oh, Oracle of the people, most perfect and wise. Strangers have come to our world. They bear instruments we do not understand,” she intoned before turning back to them. “Who are you?”

Kirk stood proudly.

“I am Captain Kirk of the _ISS Enterprise_.”

“For what reason do you visit this world?”

“We’ve come in friendship,” Kirk said again with a dashing smile.

“Then learn what it means to be our enemy before you learn what it means to be our friend,” Natira replied coldly.

Crackling lightning flashed and the prisoners were rendered unconscious. She stood a few seconds looking them over before stepping closer to the doctor.

“High Priestess?” a guard asked. “What should we do with them?”

“Put them in a guest room,” she answered thoughtfully. “I would speak to them again.”

So it was in a nicely furnished room that they awoke a while later.

Kirk stretched out first and cursed.

“Damn bitch. Won’t be sorry to blow this ‘world’ of hers to bits.”

When he received no reply he looked his team over.

“Spock!”

His sharp tone roused the Vulcan who pulled himself together promptly.

“Bones,” Kirk snapped but the doctor didn’t stir. He stepped over and shoved him roughly. “Wake up!”

“The doctor must have received an excessively large electrical shock,” Spock suggested with a hint of reproach. Kirk let go of McCoy and glanced at the simmering Vulcan.

“Just you remember who gave him that jolt,” he reminded him.

Spock nodded curtly and more gently shifted McCoy in an effort to rouse him. The doctor blinked and unsteadily tried to sit up.

“I'm all right.” He waved Spock’s concern away. “Are you all right, Mister Spock?”

“Very well, Doctor.” Spock remained close. “The Captain and I seem to have suffered no ill effects.”

“Oh, that Oracle really got to me. I must be especially susceptible to its magic spells.”

Kirk waved him to silence as he tensed and turned in time to see an old man enter the room. He approached them cautiously.

“For strength. Many of us have felt the power of our Oracle. This has been of benefit.”

Kirk grabbed his hand before he could hand over the tablets he carried.

“Thank but no thanks. My mother taught me never to accept candy from strangers.”

The man stared at them with frightened eyes before scurrying away.

“The sooner we can get out of here the better,” Kirk muttered.

“We are likely to discover more than previously supposed,” Spock put in. “If we can access their ‘oracle’, and download its data, we will have tens of thousands of years of accumulated knowledge.”

Kirk nodded as he calculated the new risks and potential rewards.

“New plan then. One of us will have to… ah… distract Natira,” his smile left no doubt whom and how he meant, “while the others ransack their library.”

McCoy was about to make a retort to that when the door opened again and Natira herself stepped inside.

“It is the will of the Oracle that you now be treated as honoured guests,” she announced before gestured more women inside with offerings of food and drink.

Kirk smiled delightedly but McCoy just felt suddenly tired. He sat back down heavily.

The motion caught Natira’s eye and she moved over with a look of concern.

“You do not seem well. It is distressing to me.”

“Oh, no. I'm quite all right, thank you.” McCoy smiled grimly. Natira immediately moved away to fetch him a drink and Kirk leaned closer.

“You seem to be the special favourite,” he mocked. “How about you distract her while Spock and I go looting?”

He clapped Bones on the shoulder in a deceptively friendly gesture just as Natira returned and handed McCoy a goblet.

“If we are now guests,” Kirk spoke blithely, “you won’t mind if we take a look around?”

“Not at all. The people know of you now.” She turned her gaze back onto McCoy. “Are you well enough to go about?”

“Perhaps not,” he responded with a glare at Kirk’s grinning face.

“Then why not remain here? Rest. We will talk.”

McCoy bit back his initial response.

“You are very kind.”

Natira turned to the others with an almost concealed look of triumph.

“You are free to go about and meet our people,” she effectively dismissed them.

“Thank you. And thank you for taking care of Doctor McCoy.”

McCoy thought Kirk was enjoying this a little too much. He glanced at the rigid Vulcan who was clearly only barely restraining himself from throttling the woman.

“Mister Spock,” Kirk barked to recall his attention.

Spock glanced back several times even as Kirk led him out of the room. He forced himself to follow his captain. McCoy was in no danger. He would talk charmingly to the woman as ordered but Spock was sure he would go no further.

Part of his mind remained fixed on that concern even as he deciphered the Fabrini writing and led Kirk into the Oracle chamber. While he studied the wall panels and obelisks though, he could not rid his mind of the predatory look in Natira’s eyes.

Just then, the priestess herself entered the chamber and both officers hid themselves.

“Speak,” the Oracle commanded her.

“It is I, Natira.”

“Yes, Natira.”

“It is written only the high priestess of the people may select her mate.”

“It is so written.”

“The strangers among us, the three visitors. There is one called McCoy. I wish him to remain here as my mate.”

“Does he agree to this?”

“I have asked him-”

Spock could stand no more and darted forward. Natira, caught by surprise simply stared in shock even as the Vulcan’s hands found her neck. A loud crack filled the chamber.

Kirk swaggered out himself.

“That simplifies things,” he said. “Knew it was a good idea letting you two work together.”

Spock stood still and calmed his fierce anger. The threat to his mate was dead. Now there was nothing in the way of the mission. He glanced about, refamiliarising himself with the location.

“I believe I can decipher the rest of these symbols now Captain.”

“Go ahead,” Kirk offered with an amused glint to his eyes. Spock ignored it and moved back to the obelisk. It did not take him long to find the correct sequence to open the altar.

They quickly moved through and surveyed their find. Rows of discs lined shelves.

“Captain. Intelligence files. Their banks contain the total knowledge of the Fabrini.”

“Fine.” Kirk snapped open his communicator. “Scotty? Beam up the articles in this chamber.”

Seconds later the familiar shimmering effect arose over the shelves and everything there disappeared.

“Right.” Kirk clapped his hands. “Time to blow this hunk of rock.”

“What in the devil?” McCoy’s irritated voice echoed from the other chamber.

The captain and Spock stepped back inside to find McCoy kneeling by Natira.

“She wanted to marry me!” he exclaimed.

Spock’s nostrils flared.

“That is why she is dead, Doctor,” he said.

McCoy stood up to square off against the Vulcan.

“And I don’t get a say in who I marry?” he demanded.

For a second Kirk thought Spock would snap the doctor’s neck too but then he turned away from the fuming man and said strangely quietly.

“I believe we should return to the ship now, Captain.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

McCoy wasn’t particularly interested in watching Yonada be blown into its constituent atoms so as Kirk and Spock headed for the bridge, he headed for the Vulcan’s quarters.

Technically he was still on duty and should be reporting back to sickbay but since receiving his death sentence he found he wasn’t so bothered about regulations anymore.

As he sat himself cross legged upon Spock’s bed he felt curiously relaxed.

The Vulcan was pissed at him – that much was perfectly clear – and it was no secret what happened to those few who managed to genuinely piss the Vulcan off. Just look at Natira.

She had been an inspiration to him, he was prepared to give her that.

And now he knew that not only his days but his minutes were numbered, well, everything seemed so much simpler. He laid back comfortably and decided to enjoy the cosiness of a nap in the soft bedding and warm quarters.

His eyes snapped open what seemed like only minutes later but which must have been the end of shift.

He sat up and saw Spock stood silhouetted in the doorway. McCoy silently rose and wondered what might be appropriate to say in these circumstances.

He was saved the worry by Spock suddenly reaching forward and closing his hands about his throat. McCoy felt a shiver of anticipation and even pleasure that his last moments would be with Spock’s hands on him.

The hands squeezed with a deceptively gentle pressure until McCoy’s eyes rolled up.

Spock’s calm façade slipped briefly and he suddenly became aware of the flicker of unexpected emotions from the human.

Contentment. Satisfaction. Relief.

Spock let go suddenly, confused by the reaction and needing to confirm and to understand. Without hesitation he switched his fingers to the doctor’s meld points and, even as the man was heaving for breath, he shoved into his unresisting mind.

Images rose and fell – Natira leaning in to kiss him, Kirk ordering him to seduce her, keeping her occupied with hollow promises while the away team ransacked the religious sanctuary.

But beneath that was a pervasive hopelessness. A knowledge submerged from view until Spock pulled it forward.

He broke the meld abruptly.

“You are dying!”

The doctor glared even as he bent over, trying to remain standing after the oxygen deprivation and the forced meld.

“Yeah,” he growled, voice hoarse after the abuse his throat had suffered.

Spock stepped back from him.

“You provoked me,” he told him.

“Thought it’d be… easier all round.”

“Easier? You believe I found it easy?”

“Didn’t seem to be… causing you… too much trouble.”

Spock stepped forward again to grasp the man by his hair so he could force his eyes to meet his.

“I would never have forgiven myself,” he told him.

McCoy stared back, searching Spock’s eyes and seemingly recognising the truth. He swallowed hard again and attempted a nod. Spock released him.

“Thought you’d not miss me too much… if you thought I was straying.”

“That is illogical.”

“Well I didn’t exactly plan it in depth! Kirk ordered me to distract her and the idea popped into my head.”

“You wished to die at my hand rather than let the xenopolycythemia kill you?”

“Long, agonising death or swift killing at the hands of an impassioned Vulcan? No contest really.”

Spock stared at him and came to a decision.

“You will not die. I shall not allow it.”

The doctor managed a chuckle.

“You don’t have much choice.”

“I will cure you,” Spock stated. “We retrieved much valuable knowledge from the Fabrini before destroying the ship.”

“And you think they’ll have a cure lying in there somewhere?”

“I will leave no avenue unexplored.”

McCoy shook his head but more in bemusement than negativity.

“Darlin’, I’ll be the first to thank you if you manage it but it’s impossible.”

Spock crowded the human further back into his quarters until he could push him down onto the bed.

“You will remain here,” he instructed. “I will find a cure and once you are well we shall engage in intercourse.”

“That your plan huh? Well, you cure me and I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

Spock hesitated from where he’d begun to head towards the door. He turned back.

“Whatever I want?” he reiterated. “If I manage to cure you, you will agree to bond with me?”

There was silence in the room as both men stared at each other. Finally McCoy nodded.

“Yeah. I’ll bond,” he agreed.

Spock strode forward, seized his head and crashed their mouths together.

“I will cure you,” he promised again before striding from the room.

McCoy lay on the bed and tried to untangle his twisted thoughts and feelings. It’d been a hell of a day. Checking his results to realise he was dying, realising he’d have to lose Spock, considering giving up and staying with Natira, considering getting Spock to give up on him… only to find Spock wasn’t ultimately prepared to do that.

So now, he was simply awaiting his fate, whatever it might be, at Spock’s hands. Odd how natural that felt. It was only now, with his life at stake and Spock’s clear determination not to let him slip away, that McCoy realised with utter certainty that the Vulcan loved him. And he had fallen in love with him right back some time ago. Long before he ever realised he even liked the man.

He drifted in and out of dreams, sometimes pleasant, sometimes not, until he was suddenly interrupted by a hand grasping him and pulling him upright.

“Come,” Spock’s voice demanded.

“Whassat?” McCoy mumbled.

“The Fabrini have a cure.”

McCoy fell silent and allowed Spock to almost drag him along the corridors towards sickbay. He wanted to believe it but he knew better than to blindly trust alien remedies.

They arrived to find Chapel looking with curiosity at the molecular structure of the cure. McCoy twisted himself out of Spock’s hold and stepped forward to study it.

“I should imagine that sort of aggressive treatment would be painful,” Christine commented casually.

McCoy grit his teeth.

“Better than dying painfully.”

“Will it work?” Spock demanded from behind them.

McCoy turned to meet his eyes.

“Should do,” he replied, “but as Christine says, it’ll burn like a bitch. And I’ll need a sequence of shots to rebuild the white corpuscle count. Can’t do it all at once. Have to spread it out over 24 maybe even 36 hours.”

Spock’s eyes flickered about the sickbay facility.

“I shall administer the injections,” he announced.

“No offense, darlin’,” McCoy drawled, “but I’m not sure I trust you to know what dosage to administer. It’ll vary as my haemoglobin count increases.”

“I can assist him, Doctor,” Christine offered.

McCoy eyed her thoughtfully before nodding.

“Alright. Well let’s get this shebang going.”

The first injection didn’t initially seem so bad but then the chemical hit his heart and he screamed. Spock and Chapel strapped him down to the biobed as he writhed but there was nothing further they could do.

Christine returned to her duties and left Spock staring intently at the doctor. For a long while the Vulcan didn’t move, simply registering all the convulsions and reactions as the cure integrated into his very bone marrow. Then his superior hearing picked up a familiar background noise.

“Ignacio is offering 10-1 odds.”

“What are the odds on permanent brain damage?”

Spock was up and moving without any conscious decision even as the med technicians continued obliviously.

“Not worth betting. 3-1.”

The men glanced round as Spock moved into their personal space and eyes widened in terror as he didn’t stop. With unremitting strength, the Vulcan seized each man by his tunic and slammed them both up against the wall.

“If I discover anyone has bet upon the doctor’s recovery I shall ensure they receive a one-way trip to the Agony Booth,” he intoned.

Both men struggled frantically to nod but Spock showed no sign of releasing them yet.

“Mister Spock,” Chapel’s calm voice interrupted. “It’s time for Doctor McCoy to have another injection.”

He glanced over, face entirely unruffled.

“Of course,” he agreed, dropping the technicians without another glance and following the nurse back to the bedside.

She glanced over the readouts and adjusted a hypospray before passing it across to him. He took it but hesitated.

“I have no interest in killing McCoy,” Christine told him with a hint of amusement. “I’m not qualified to take his place and he’s actually good to work with.”

Spock surveyed her intently before recognising he had little choice but to trust her at this stage. He injected the second dose.

A few minutes later McCoy’s jaw locked tight and he convulsed again but it was less intense than the first time. Spock resumed his position watching over him.

The ship had switched into night-time mode when he was joined at the bedside.

Kirk stared hard at the pallid man now laying prone on the biobed before glaring at Spock.

“Why was I not informed of this?”

“Both the doctor and I followed correct procedure-”

“Damn procedure!” Kirk slammed his fist down on the edge of the bed and Spock gave an involuntary twitch. The captain immediately took a step back away from McCoy but didn’t otherwise back down.

“I took him down to the planet with me. This could have jeopardised the entire mission!”

“With respect, the mission was merely to loot and plunder. The doctor’s condition should not have been an issue.”

“And now? Because he doesn’t look fit to run sickbay right now.”

“For the next 24 hours his condition is indeed likely to incapacitate him. Possibly for longer if the recuperation is slow. However these timeframes are within acceptable limits.”

“Says who?”

“The regulations clearly indicate-”

“Damn you and your regulations!”

Spock fell silent and waited while the captain thought through actions and consequences.

“Is he going to be okay?” he finally asked.

“The cure has every likelihood of working.”

Kirk nodded, apparently willing to accept the ends in this case justifying the means.

“I expect you to tell me if there’s any indication of relapse or deterioration,” he ordered.

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgment of the instruction and was then mildly surprised that the captain didn’t immediately leave.

“I’d be sorry to lose him,” the man eventually confessed. “He’s the closest thing to a friend I have.”

That said Kirk stalked out.

Spock resumed his vigil and pondered the captain’s statement.

It was certainly true that the two humans were able to interact in a more casual way than most due to their distance within the chain of command. While Kirk was clearly overall in charge of sickbay, he never bothered himself with their affairs. And in fact McCoy was one of the few people he could discuss decisions with in confidence without fear of it being used to usurp him.

Spock was still contemplating the complex nature of relationships when dawn came and Chapel returned to prepare another dose. The reaction to this injection was less severe again and Spock deemed it probable that in catching the xenopolycythemia so soon, they would manage the cure more efficiently.

He remained in position by the doctor’s bedside throughout the day, Captain Kirk correctly deducing the need for another officer to take his bridge duty shift.

After lunchtime, they administered what the nurse calculated should be the final dose. While McCoy still tossed and turned it could now be mistaken for a disturbed sleep.

As evening came round again, the human finally opened groggy blue eyes. They fixed on Spock and the doctor managed a rather weak smile.

“Still ain’t left me,” he murmured.

“I shall not leave you,” Spock remarked before signalling for Chapel to come check on her patient.

McCoy remained quiet, eyes resting shut, as she looked over the readouts carefully.

“Excellent, Doctor. The white corpuscle count is back to normal.”

McCoy forced his eyes open.

“Glad to hear it.”

Spock too was glancing at the readouts over Chapel’s shoulder.

“Your haemoglobin count is back to normal, Doctor, which indicates that the flow of oxygen to each cell of your body is back up to its abundantly energetic level.”

The doctor choked a laugh.

“Don’t feel so energetic so whatever you’re thinkin’ will have t’ wait.”

“Of course,” Spock demurred immediately. “We shall wait for your full recovery before completing our bonding.”

McCoy looked at him with tired but fond eyes.

“Sure darlin’. Just as soon as I’m rested.”

His eyes drooped shut again and he fell into a natural sleep. Spock considered returning to his own quarters but decided it would be better to continue to stay.

After all, it was logical to protect one’s mate.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

McCoy discharged himself the next day but was still too exhausted for Spock to consider doing anything with him. The Vulcan left him alone to sleep and recover for a further 24 hours but the following evening he joined him in his quarters as usual.

He was mildly apprehensive that the doctor might have second thoughts about bonding but McCoy settled those worries almost immediately.

When Spock stepped into his room, McCoy was laid on his bed. His first thought was that the man was still resting but then McCoy blinked slowly and spread his legs in invitation.

Spock striped his own clothes efficiently as he approached and then proceeded to remove the obstructive garments from his mate.

McCoy remained placid and quiet. Spock was unsure if this was a sign of nervousness or left over exhaustion. However when Spock reached for the familiar scalpel McCoy moved quickly to lay a hand on his wrist to stop him.

“No. I…” He averted his eyes and swallowed hard. “I don’t want to see no blood tonight… maybe never again after the last few days…”

His gaze came back to lock onto Spock’s.

“But I still want _you_.”

“You are sure you do not want the familiarity?” Spock checked.

McCoy shook his head vehemently.

“It’s lost some of its comfort now,” he explained, running a gentle hand up Spock’s arm thoughtfully. “You haven’t,” he added quietly.

“Even though I am to use my ‘Vulcan Voodoo’ on you?”

McCoy smiled at the teasing.

“You know… it doesn’t worry me anymore.” He looked fondly at the Vulcan. “And I kinda want this to be a fresh start for us.”

“It shall be,” Spock assured him, leaning down to kiss him tenderly.

McCoy welcomed him, allowing Spock to plunder his mouth even as he pulled the heavier man closer, cocooning himself beneath the security of his body.

When Spock broke the kiss he stroked elegant fingers along McCoy’s jaw and up to the meld points. The human tensed, remembering the sudden jolt of the last time Spock had entered his mind.

“The previous meld was conducted in haste.” Spock placed a chaste, apologetic kiss to the corner of McCoy’s lips. “This joining will be far more gentle.” He massaged the spots of contact beneath his finger tips. “And pleasurable.”

McCoy let out a gasp as Spock’s mind opened to him, enveloping his own mind almost like a psychedelic drug. Visions of places and people he both recognised and didn’t flowed before him. His rational mind knew these were Spock’s memories but he made no attempt to catalogue or understand them. He trusted Spock to guide him through this and concentrated on offering no resistance.

There was a deep-rooted sense of peace and warmth. He also felt a tug, as if the rigid pattern of Spock’s Vulcan logic were drawing the flowing effervescent human emotions into the gaps.

_Opposites attract_.

McCoy honestly didn’t know whose thought it was but sensed it was _their_ thought.

He saw his own form reflected in Spock’s mind but not as he saw himself. The imperfections that Leonard always saw were suddenly inconsequential, or non-existent.

He noted with a flicker of curiosity that his scar was gone but immediately felt reassured by the wave of possessive protection that emanated from the Vulcan.

His eyes were lit like burning copper chloride. His smile was genuine and amused. His mind was buzzing with wit and intelligence.

And his hands, always one of his prized features, were imbued with an almost glowing aura.

He also realised Spock could see how Leonard perceived _him_ just as clearly. Strong and carved like a work of art, the Vulcan’s eyes to him were windows to a fathomless depth of hidden emotion. His arms were barriers that held at bay the dangerous darkness. His mind was loyal and endlessly intriguing.

Instinctively, McCoy raised his hand to touch Spock’s face. The bond allowed the Vulcan to direct him to the correct points and suddenly McCoy found Spock’s consciousness seemed much closer.

He felt Spock’s thoughts opening to him, inviting him to share, and it was a sensation akin to falling.

McCoy broke away from the meld with his head swimming. He shuddered involuntarily and felt long arms wrapping him close and tight, holding him safe while he adjusted to the new sensation.

“It’s… Christ!” he swore. “It’s like nothing I ever expected.”

Spock lay quietly, letting McCoy take his own time.

“Yer still in my head.”

“Always,” Spock confirmed.

Leonard took a deep breath and felt himself calming at that thought. He was aware of Spock’s pleasure at that idea conveyed through the bond.

“Just means you can’t claim to misunderstand me,” he sniped fondly.

They lay together, making no move to join physically while they continued to explore their new mental pathways.

Then McCoy frowned.

“Romulans?” he queried, not sure he understood the thoughts he’d seen.

There was a spike of defensiveness from Spock but he answered calmly enough.

“The Empire is destined to fail. It is logical for my people to form new alliances in preparation and our distant cousins would seem to be the obvious choice.”

McCoy shifted so he could stare at Spock.

“That’s treasonous,” he told him.

“I trust you not to betray me.”

McCoy continued to stare before insinuating himself back into Spock’s arms.

“Course I won’t betray you.”

He was amazed at the level of trust Spock had put in him by merging their minds like this when he must have known McCoy would then see his innermost plans.

“And did you not show me a similar level of trust?” Spock responded verbally to the mental feedback. “You entrusted me with your body and heart.”

McCoy saw no use in trying to deny that when Spock could see all his feelings in relation to the Vulcan probably better than he ever did.

“So your father’s colluding with the Romulans?”

“He has opened discussions with them. There is a network building among the Vulcan people, spreading telepathically, ready to act at a favourable time.”

“When’s that going to be?”

“The Romulans are naturally cautious when they have only occasional meetings with the ambassador to convince them. It will be necessary for an emissary to go to Romulus who may deal directly with them and advise them of the situations both within the Empire and upon Vulcan.”

Even with the mental bond it took McCoy a few seconds to piece together the inevitable conclusion to that. He sat up suddenly.

“You mean you!”

“I am indeed the logical choice,” Spock agreed from his relaxed position.

McCoy shook his head.

“No. Yer can’t abandon me to abscond to Romulus! If you go AWOL the Empire will have you killed.”

Spock sat up to meet McCoy’s eyes.

“I would not abandon you. Ever. The plan is to retire at the end of this five year mission. The Empire will likely promote Kirk at that time and use the opportunity to remove me from my position anyway. They will not care where I go then.”

“You want me to go with you,” McCoy deduced.

“Indeed. Although if you are not willing then I shall not go.”

“What will happen to your father’s plan then?”

“It shall fail. There is no one else with the potential to successfully conclude dealings with the Romulans.”

McCoy looked away.

“You’re asking me to abandon my home. Never to see Earth… Georgia… again. ‘Cause soon as they realise where we’ve gone we’ll be high on the Empire’s hit list.”

“That is correct. Although we will be relatively secure on Romulus. Few spies of the Empire survive long there or make it close to the seat of power.”

McCoy thought of his home. Georgia in the summer’s sweltering humid heat. The blessed relief of autumn’s breezes blowing russet coloured leaves from the trees. Winter’s occasional snow that brought a smile to his boyish face followed by spring’s rush of green and blossoming scents.

This must have drifted through the bond because Spock rubbed his arm soothingly.

“We need make no decision now. There are still over two years of our mission to go.”

McCoy looked at him thoughtfully and nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

He laid back on the bed invitingly.

“Now are yer going to make me feel loved again?”

Spock shifted over him.

“I shall make you forget everything but me,” he promised before claiming McCoy’s mouth in a sensual kiss.

The familiar flood of relief filled McCoy as Spock began to make good on his promise. His world narrowed down until all that mattered was the weight of that warm body above him, the sensation of those flexible fingers spreading him, the musky smell of Vulcan sweat surfacing, and that taste…

It was as the fingers were removed to slick himself that McCoy realised that this was his home now. Spock.

The thought clearly rang through their link because Spock hesitated and glanced at him in surprise. McCoy smiled tantalisingly.

“Ain’t you ever heard that home is where the heart is darlin’?”

“I do not believe I ever understood the phrase until now.”

McCoy laughed.

“I’ll be happy to elucidate later. Right now I’d rather you fuck me.”

“As would I,” Spock murmured even as he shifted and pushed himself inside.

McCoy shivered in delight as his craving was finally satisfied.

_Yours_.

The thought echoed between them, directed to both and emanating from both. Spock held himself still so he could carefully lean down and kiss McCoy again. It was filled with promises and tantalizing in its teasing nature, lasting all too briefly before the Vulcan pulled away and smiled.

Then he started rocking himself firmly and insistently into the human’s pliant, receptive body. McCoy gasped softly and ran his hands everywhere possible over the damp torso above him.

He could feel Spock’s tingling pleasure at the sensation of his calloused fingertips and he intensified his exploration. Undoubtedly Spock could sense his utter satisfaction in being deeply and thoroughly taken since the Vulcan was thrusting slowly, purposely but oh-so deeply.

McCoy tugged Spock’s shoulders gently to encourage his weight down and the Vulcan obliged, letting their chests rest together even while keeping his hips rhythmically moving. With pointed ears now in reach, McCoy delighted in investigating them meticulously with his tongue.

He was rewarded with a low groan and a hard jab to his prostate that made him gasp in return. The desire was bouncing back and forth between them easily now, the bond seemingly allowing unrestrained communion, so it was hard to tell whether the pleasure originated with Spock or McCoy.

When the Vulcan retaliated and licked the human’s ear, McCoy knew he was so close as to be practically gone already. Apparently Spock felt the same urge because he jerked uncontrollably and shuddered as he filled McCoy with his claim.

Spock’s final thrusts reverberated with the impression of possessing McCoy even as McCoy’s clenching muscles announced his own claim on the Vulcan.

They lay together panting with Spock still resting inside the doctor. McCoy wondered if he was reacting more because of his illness but knew instinctively that it was the bond intensifying the experience. He held Spock to him tightly unwilling to ever let him leave.

“I shall certainly stay with you tonight,” the Vulcan murmured. “Now we are bonded it would be appropriate.”

McCoy gripped him tighter.

“I don’t just mean tonight,” he answered, drawing together his courage. “You said this was like a marriage yeah? So it’s through thick and thin. An’ if you want to go to Romulus… well, I’ll be right at your side.”

A burst of pride flashed across the bond before Spock supressed it.

“We shall not decide now,” Spock repeated. “I would not push you into anything you might regret.”

McCoy wanted to argue but post orgasmic tiredness was sweeping him up already.

“Sleep now.” Spock moved to settle McCoy comfortably before wrapping his arms about him again. “I shall be here in the morning.”

“An’ the next morning?” McCoy asked sleepily.

“I shall always be with you k’diwa.”

McCoy smiled at the endearment.

“Love you too darlin’,” he whispered.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Aren't Wanted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11176548) by [StellarLibraryLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady)




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